


These Violent Delights

by SuperWhoLockianFangirl



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, The Godfather (1972 1974 1990)
Genre: A Suprising Lack of Cannibalism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Based on The Godfather, Betrayal, Blood, Character Death, Death, F/M, Gore, Hannibal is Creepy No Matter What the Time Period, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Jealousy, M/M, Murder, Murderers Do Not Make Good Boyfriends, No One Takes Hannibal's Toys, Organized Crime, Period-Typical Homophobia, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Hannibal, Sexual Content, Sometimes Literally, Violence, You can't possibly think this has a happy ending, backstabbing, established relationships - Freeform, family business
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 17:47:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 42
Words: 101,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperWhoLockianFangirl/pseuds/SuperWhoLockianFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1930 Hannibal Lecter finds Will Graham sick and alone, wandering the streets of New York. He brings him home to his uncle and sets their lives on an irrevocable course. As Hannibal grows up under his uncle's tutelage and prepares himself to take over the family business, Will tries his best to break away from the shady life of his adoptive family. But Hannibal does not let people go so easily.</p><p>AU based on "The Godfather"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to be honest guys, I was extremely wary of posting this. I've been outlining it for a while and I have an entire timeline and outline ready, but this is unlike anything I've ever written before, so I'm nervous about this. I have no idea why I wrote this, but I hope you guys enjoy it. 
> 
> This is based on The Godfather (the films and the novel by Mario Puzo), but no characters from the Godfather appear. If you're familiar with The Godfather you'll probably recognize some plotlines, but this is not going to follow the book or films exactly.

_New York City – June, 1930_

 

New York was a ruthless city, Will Graham was discovering. He had always known that the city was unforgiving, but its brutality had not quite hit him until he found himself wandering the dirty streets, sleeping on wet concrete and digging through dumpsters for food.

His mother had died when he was only four years old. Four years later his father had finally succeeded in drinking himself to death, leaving the small and scrawny eight-year-old with no one. No one except for a dirty mutt of a dog with muddy brown fur. He had adopted the dog and fed him half his scarps every night, not minding the fleas or the awful smell. After a day, he hardly noticed it at all.

The sun was at its high point in the sky when the ratty young boy with his mess of brown curls settled down on a street corner. He curled his fingers into the dog’s fur and stared longingly at a fruit stand across the road from him. The dog – who Will had decided to call Winston – whined pitifully and Will looked down at him.

“I know, Winston,” he whispered to the dog. “I’m hungry too.”

He raised his eyes back to the fruit stand. The oranges and apples looked more appealing than ever and young Will toyed with the idea of stealing them. The old man who ran the stand was large and intimidating. Will would hate to anger him and that was the only thing keeping the man’s fruits safe from dirty little fingers.

His throat was dry and sore from lack of water and a cough that had plagued him for more than a week. The eight year old pulled his thin knees to his chest and rested his chin there. He was sluggish and tired and sore all over, but he wasn’t ready to give up just yet. He eyed the fruit stand with a fevered gleam in his blue eyes and thought more seriously about taking some. Surely the old man wouldn’t get angry over a couple of small oranges?

A hacking cough worked its way out of his throat and he covered his mouth with the crook of his arm. Pulling away, Will stared at the bright red flecks of blood that had spilled from his lips. His stomach tightened and he felt a wave of nauseous fear wash over him. It was then, at only eight years old, that Will Graham knew he was going to die.

“Are you alright?”

Will blinked up to see a taller boy, about nine years old. He was standing beside him on the street corner holding an orange in his hand. He held it out to Will, studying him with curious maroon-colored eyes. Will only hesitated for a second before snatching the orange from the boy, his dirty fingernails digging into the fruit’s hide with ravenous force.

“Are you sick?” the stranger asked as Will ripped into the fruit.

Slowly, Will nodded, pulling the meat of the fruit into sections and feeding some to Winston before eating any himself.

The boy frowned, arched brows knitting together. Will thought he’d never seen a boy look so grown up before. He was wearing neat, clean trousers and shiny shoes and a tie. They must be his church clothes. Will didn’t know what day it was, but surely a boy his own age wouldn’t wander around the streets dressed like that for no reason.

“Do you need help?” the boy asked.

Will started to shake his head, but then the boy knelt to look at Winston. The knees of his fancy pants got wet on the pavement and Will thought the boy was going to get in big trouble with his mother for sure. “Is your dog sick too?”

When Will nodded in reply to his question, the boy stood again.

“My name’s Hannibal,” he said. “Have you got a name?”

Will nodded mutely again and Hannibal tilted his head curiously.

“Can you talk?”

Will hesitated for a moment and looked down, “I’m Will. I’m sorry – it hurts to talk…” he said. His voice was hoarse and the words scratched at him on the way out. He could taste the coppery blood on the back of his tongue. “My throat –“

Comprehension lit Hannibal’s face and he held a hand out. “Come with me,” he said. “My uncle can help you.”

Staring at the hand, Will wasn’t sure what to do exactly. No one had ever offered to help him before. He thought the boy’s hands looked very clean and he glanced down at his own dirty fingers and didn’t think he should touch him.

“It’s alright,” Hannibal seemed amused, his lips twisting into a faint smile. “I’m not going to hurt you…”

Will clutched Winston closer to him. “Can Winston come too?”

Hannibal stared at the dog and Will noticed his face flicker for a moment. His nose curled and his lips twisted, but he nodded.

“My uncle won’t mind,”

Still nervous, Will reached out and took Hannibal’s hand. His skin was warm and clean and soft. It was an alien feeling to Will. Hannibal helped him to his feet and started leading him down the sidewalk, toward two men who looked bored as they stared out at the streets. It took Will a moment to realize that they were actually paying very close attention to everyone that passed by.

“They’ll take us to my uncle’s house,” Hannibal said. “He won’t mind you staying. I promise.”

* * *

From the way that Hannibal was dressed, Will had expected a large house full of servants and rich people. He pictured luxurious dining rooms filled with lots of food and warm beds with soft sheets. He was only partially correct.

Hannibal’s home was large, even for the more wealthy Long Beach area. It was sitting on a large, cleared stretch of land, right in the center. A few other, larger houses, dotted the mall and Will wondered how big Hannibal’s family was if they needed more than one house.

The driveway was paved with flat grey bricks and two shiny black cars were parked out front. Will marveled at the cars, wanting to reach out and touch them, but knowing that his hands would smudge the clean surfaces.

Winston trotted along beside the boys as Hannibal led them to the door. They were met by a short, smiling woman with shining blond hair and the biggest brown eyes that Will had ever seen. He thought she was an angel.

“Hannibal! What have you got here? Who is this?” She spoke with a rough accent that Will had never heard before. She dropped down to his eye level, the skirts of her dress brushing the doorstep as she looked him over with kind, friendly eyes.

“His name is Will,” Hannibal said. “He’s sick and he had nowhere to go.”

Standing again, the woman nodded, “Well, we will help him then, won’t we?” She took Will by the hand and started to lead him inside, but Will pulled away and glanced down at Winston.

“What about Winston?”

The soreness in his throat was worse, but he couldn’t just leave the poor creature alone. He had been his only friend and companion in a very long time.

The woman’s eyes flickered to Hannibal, “Hannibal will see to your dog,” she said, her voice a bit sterner than it had been before. Dutifully, Hannibal began to take Winston away, around to the back of the house. Will watched them go with a frown on his small face and the woman brushed his hair with her fingers gently.

“Do not worry, Will,” she said. “He will be alright. Now, follow me…”

* * *

Will soon found himself scrubbed raw in surprisingly scalding water. He couldn’t remember the last time he had taken a bath and he had certainly never used a bathtub like the one in Hannibal’s home. He found out that the woman was Hannibal’s aunt – his uncle’s wife – and that her name was Theresa Lecter. He wouldn’t learn until later that she, her husband, Hannibal and his sister were immigrates from Lithuania.

While she bathed him, she spoke to him softly in a language that Will eventually learned was Lithuanian. The words flowed from her quickly and he wished that he knew what she was saying to him, but even without meaning her voice calmed him. The warm water didn’t hurt either.

As soon as he was cleaned, he was given fresh clothes that had belonged to Hannibal at a younger age. She led him directly into a kitchen where Will saw a little blond haired girl with the same maroon eyes as Hannibal. The girl hid her face behind her hair and didn’t speak to Will, watching Theresa cook, humming to herself. Will learned the next day that the girl was Mischa Lecter, Hannibal’s younger sister.

Having not eaten a proper meal in over two weeks, the food tasted better than Will could ever have imagined. Just the fact that it was warm was enough to make him happy. Mrs. Lecter chatted with him and sent Mischa to get her uncle, which left Will sitting at the big, empty dining table. His feet swung back and forth from his seat and he ate in silence, just listening as Mrs. Lecter talked to him, telling him that they would see that he got to a doctor and that she couldn’t believe that he had been left alone.

She never once asked what had happened to him and he was grateful that he didn’t have to tell her about his father or his mother. He didn’t want to think about any of that when these people were being so kind to him.

Not long after he had finished his meal, three men came into the kitchen, talking loudly and grinning. They wore dark suits and had shiny shoes like Hannibal. Will’s eyes grew wide when he spotted guns at their belts. He quickly ducked his head and hoped to be invisible while Mrs. Lecter smiled and chattered at them, fixing them plates heaping with food and warning them fondly against spilling on the carpeting.

Turning back toward Will, Mrs. Lecter saw that he had finished his meal.

“Ah, good. Now, Hannibal should be finished. Go outside, see if you can find him. He will fix you a place to stay and in the morning we will take you to Dr. Williams; he is a good man. He can help you.”

Will wanted to argue; he felt strange accepting all of this help from these people, but Mrs. Lecter had taken his plate and turned her back on him. Hesitating for a moment, Will slid from the seat and wandered slowly toward the hall she had pointed him too. He caught a flash of the little blond girl peaking at him from the crack in a door, but then she was gone.

He wondered if he should speak to her, but he didn’t. He walked on bare feet to the door at the end of the hall and pushed it open, finding himself standing on the warm bricks that led to a covered pavilion. Hannibal was there, wiping down a surprisingly clean Winston. He had removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, but he had still gotten water and soap all over his fancy church clothes.

Quietly, Will moved to stand beside them and finally spoke.

“Is he okay?”

Hannibal lifted his maroon eyes to Will’s face and Will quickly looked away. He had strange eyes, Will realized. Grown up eyes. They looked frightening set in the face of a child.

“He’ll be fine,” Hannibal told him. “We can bring him some food after dinner tonight.”

Will smiled gratefully and reached down to gently pet the damp fur on Winston’s head. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Hannibal smiled at him. It was a quick, disarming smile and Will thought it looked like a shark. “Did my Aunt Theresa give you lunch?”

Will nodded, but kept his attention on Winston, sliding his fingers through the clean hair and marveling at the feeling of it.

“You can stay in my room tonight,” Hannibal said. “We have extra blankets and cots for you. My uncle will take care of you. He takes care of everyone.”

Will looked back up at Hannibal and nodded again. He had mentioned his uncle several times by that point and Will was very curious to meet the man. He seemed already like a mysterious and powerful being. Somehow Will knew that this uncle was a very important person. He wondered if he would like him or not.

* * *

That night, Will slept on a cot in Hannibal’s bedroom. He didn’t say much of anything, but Hannibal didn’t seem to mind. He talked to Will a lot, asking him questions. Mostly Will nodded or shook his head. The mattress was lumpy, but to Will it felt like heaven and he hadn’t slept so well in many years.

The following morning, Mrs. Lecter took Will to see Dr. Williams. Hannibal went along with them. The Doctor gave him some sort of foul smelling medicine and said that his cough would go away within a week. Will hated the taste of it, but Mrs. Lecter insisted on him drinking the thick syrup.

That afternoon Hannibal officially introduced him to Mischa. The little girl was quiet and only said a murmured “Hello,” before hiding behind her older brother and watching Will with curious eyes. She seemed very fond of her brother though, and followed Hannibal and Will to the pavilion where Winston was tied. The empty bowl where his scraps had been sat to one side.

When she saw Winston, Mischa finally broke away from Hannibal and cautiously approached the animal.

“Is he your doggy?” the little girl asked.

Will smiled at her and nodded, “His name’s Winston,” he told her. She reached out for a second, like she was going to touch him, but then she quickly pulled her hand back.

“He won’t bite,” Will told her confidently. He may have only known Winston a short time, but he knew that the dog would never do anything to hurt anyone. He petted him gently and looked at the little girl. “It’s okay. See?”

Cautiously, Mischa edged forward and touched the tips of her fingers to Winston’s muzzle. The dog happily licked her hands and she jumped back for a moment before bursting into delighted giggles. More brave then, she stepped closer and petted the dog’s head, beaming when Winston started wagging his tail and sniffed at her dress.

Mischa turned to look at her brother, who was standing back and watching the scene. “Hannibal, look! I’m petting the doggy! He likes me!”

Hannibal smiled, but Will thought it was strange that his eyes seemed darker than before. He didn’t mention it though, he just turned back to Mischa and Winston. He smiled so much that day that he feared his cheeks might cramp.

* * *

Will didn’t meet Robert Lecter until the day after his visit to Dr. Williams. As soon as the man walked in, Will knew he was important.

Robert Lecter was a tall man with slick blond hair and eyes the color of mahogany. He had faint laugh lines around his mouth and large hands. Will had a feeling he was a very important man and he would learn over the years that he was even more important than Will had ever dreamed one man could be.

When he spotted the young boy sitting with Mischa and Hannibal in the living room, his frowned for a moment, tilting his head to the side. Will felt like his insides had turned into knots and he held his breath, not wanting to do or say anything to upset this man. He could feel how very bad that would be.

Lifting his chin, he crooked his finger at Will and Will immediately hopped to his feet. He was slower as he approached, nervous butterflies fluttering in his stomach. Once he reached the man, he stopped and stared down at the floor, studying the man’s shiny shoes.

With one hand, Robert Lecter reached out and gently lifted Will chin so that he could study his face. He didn’t say anything for a very long time and then he removed his hand and shook his head.

“You’re too thin,” he said. His voice was soft, but it carried the same accent as his wife, and as Hannibal and Mischa. “You need to eat more. We’ll have you healthy in no time.” Then he looked up at his wife and his eyes crinkled as he smiled.

“He can’t sleep in Hannibal’s room forever,” he said. “Make up one of the guest rooms for him; he’ll be more comfortable there.”

Will felt the tension slide out of him and he released his breath, beaming up at the man. He didn’t quite understand what had just happened, but he knew that he had passed some kind of test and he knew that this meant that he was welcome here.

He was going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said, very anxious about this. If anyone is interested, I will continue posting, but this is a first for me.
> 
> All mistakes are my own. Please feel free to point out any mistakes. I hope you guys enjoyed it. Please let me know what you thought!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! You guys are amazing! I'm seriously surprised at the response already. Thank you all so much for the comments, kudos and bookmarks! I hope this keeps living up to your expectations.

_New York City – September, 1945_

The wedding of Mischa Lecter was an event. Caterers and decorators were swarming all over the Lecter compound. The young bride was sitting at the long table up front, dressed in her flowing, lacy-white dress and surrounded by her bridal party and her new husband. She had her long blond hair done up in soft curls, with pale pink flowers in her braids.

The sun was shining and the crowd dressed in their best clothes. The air was filled with joyous buzzing. With the end of the war, the atmosphere felt lighter somehow, and everyone felt like celebrating. It was the perfect time for a wedding. People were dancing on the platform set up beside the covered pavilion and the band was playing a loud and triumphant song. Children chased each other around the open area, giggling and calling out to one another loudly.

Returned home for the wedding were the bride’s closest companions from her youth – her brother Hannibal, back from medical school, and the boy her uncle had unofficially adopted fifteen years before, Will Graham, who had only recently returned from the Marine Corps and bloody war.

Hannibal had grown into a man with a personality as forcefully quiet as his uncle. He stood proud and tall in his neat suit, his blond hair carefully slicked away from his face. Standing under the pavilion where many of the guests were seated, Hannibal’s expression was impassive. His eyes scanned the crowd and his lips curled somewhat as he gazed at his new brother-in-law.

He had no fondness for his sister’s choice in a husband – Mason Verger was a wealthy, intelligent man and certainly very handsome, but he was arrogant and proud and he wore his entitlement like a suit. He made Hannibal’s skin crawl, but he held his tongue. Mischa claimed to love him and his uncle told him not to interfere.

He was not altogether pleased, but he felt the day was still cause for celebration. After all, William had finally returned home from the war and he hadn’t seen the younger man in nearly three years. Though Will had been back for some months, he had yet to return to the Lecter home, but he would never miss Mischa’s wedding.

He spotted Will soon enough, slipping into a seat. He wore a rare smile on his face. His hair – still as messy and curly as it had been in his youth – hung longer than it had the last time Hannibal had seen him. He was dressed in his uniform, shining medals glittering in the sunlight. Though Hannibal had not been thrilled about Will’s decision to leave for war – against his uncle’s wishes no less – he couldn’t stop the swelling of pride when he looked at him now.

Will caught his gaze and smiled brightly at him. Hannibal finally displayed some form of emotion on his face as his lips twitched into a faint smile. He raised a hand and crooked a finger at Will, motioning for him to follow. He didn’t wait to see if Will stood or not; he turned and headed toward the house, entering through the back door and quietly slipping upstairs to his old bedroom.

Moments later, Will slipped into the room. As soon as the door shut behind him, Hannibal moved. Will started to speak, but Hannibal’s mouth covered his roughly, his hands coming up to grasp the younger man’s face. Tongues and teeth and lips melded together and Will’s eyes fluttered closed for a second, but he pushed against Hannibal’s chest and shook his head.

Stepping back, Hannibal smiled fondly at him. “I’m sorry, Will,” he said. “I have missed you.”

Will looked down at his feet and nodded. He shifted back and forth and glanced back at him. “I missed you, too,” he said quietly.

Hannibal reached out and touched his face, chest swelling again with pride as he looked at him. “Why didn’t you come home sooner? Mischa has missed you as well, and Uncle Robert would have enjoyed seeing you again.”

Will bit his lip and shook his head. He touched Hannibal’s hand and removed it from his face carefully.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I needed some time to – to get my head around everything. The war and the blood… I needed to be alone for a while.”

Hannibal nodded. He could understand Will’s need to be alone. He was the only one who knew of Will’s strange ability to absorb the emotions and feelings of others. He could only imagine what hell it would have been for an injured and war-shattered Will to return and be bombarded by the emotions of others.

“I understand,” he said. “But you know that you would have been taken care of here.”

He leaned in for another kiss, but Will stopped him, turning away and shaking his head. Hannibal frowned. He was not usually this impatient, but he had not seen Will in years and he felt starved for the younger man’s touch. They had carried on their relationship in secret ever since Will was sixteen and to be deprived of him for so long had worn him thin.

“Will, what’s wrong?”

Will didn’t meet his eyes at first and Hannibal reached out, turning his face toward him. Will looked at him and his eyes were wide and sad and full of regret. He pulled away and took a deep breath.

“We can’t, Hannibal, we –”

“We have never let anything stop us before, Will,” Hannibal said. “What is going on?”

“I have a girl now,” Will rushed through the words. “I can’t… I met her at the hospital, when I came back. She’s a real nice girl. I – I’m going to marry her, Hannibal.”

Hannibal froze. He felt something cold fill him. An icy sort of rage that numbed him from head to foot. He stared at Will for a long moment. He saw the look of distress and guilt that plagued Will’s eyes. Part of him wanted to strangle Will. Part of him wanted to find this girl and strangle her, but he kept those feelings locked up and smiled.

“That’s wonderful, Will,” he said. The words tasted like ash on his tongue, but he saw Will relax visibly and he continued. “I would like to meet her if you wouldn’t mind. She must be very special indeed if she managed to capture your attention.”

Will’s face broke out into a joyous smile and Hannibal felt that cold rage grow inside of him.

“Her name is Alana,” Will explained. “She’s waiting downstairs. I’m going to introduce her to everyone. She’s very excited to meet you.”

“As I am her,” Hannibal said, working to keep the rage from showing on his face. Will took him by the arm and guided him back downstairs. He was talking quietly as they went, telling him how he had met Alana and what she was like. Hannibal wasn’t listening to a word he said; he was thinking of their past and the years that they had had together in secret.

He had been furious when Will had announced that he had joined the Marines, furious that his uncle had done nothing to stop him from leaving. He had waited three years – three very long years – for Will’s return. All along he had known that their relationship could never been a legitimate one, but that had never mattered to him and he had assumed the same of Will. This new girl, though, that meant something. It meant an end. Hannibal didn’t like that. Now he had not only lost his sister, but he had lost Will.

* * *

Will found Alana sitting at a small round table alone. She was smiling to herself as she watched the other wedding guests, dancing and singing and drinking. Hannibal sized her up immediately. She was, he had to admit, a very beautiful woman. She was slender and wore her dark hair around her shoulders. There was something about her eyes that was too forceful, too sharp for a woman. She met his gaze and didn’t look away.

Taking her hand, Will turned toward him and beamed as he introduced her.

“Alana, this is my brother, Hannibal Lecter – well, adopted brother.”

Alana’s eyes crinkled merrily as she greeted him. Hannibal instantly disliked her. He offered her a friendly smile and inclined his head in her direction.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Bloom,” he said.

“Oh, please, call me Alana,” she said. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you and your family for months. Will never stops talking about you.” She turned toward Will and he ducked his head. He looked like an awkward school boy and it made Hannibal’s blood boil. “He loves you all very much.”

“And we love him,” Hannibal said, giving Will a piercing look. Will fidgeted and seemed to be having a difficult time responding to that.

“Well,” Hannibal said, “I hope we get to see more of you, Miss Bloom. Unfortunately, I must go speak with my uncle; we have some business to attend to this afternoon.”

He smiled one last time and turned away, heading toward the house. He truly did have business to take care of with his uncle, but not for another hour or so still. He moved away from the pavilion and stepped inside the house. His aunt and several older women from the neighborhood – wives of his uncle’s friends – were gathered in the kitchen, chattering away brightly.

The dog, Winston, was lying near the door where Theresa Lecter fed him scraps from dinner every night. He was old and grey, but remarkably energetic for a dog of over fifteen years. Whining slightly, Winston lifted his eyes to Hannibal. Hannibal felt his lip curl, but quelled the urge to stomp on the animal. Instead, he nodded politely to his aunt and her friends before heading upstairs.

* * *

“He seemed very nice,” Alana said, turning to Will.

Will frowned, staring after Hannibal as he disappeared into the house. Hannibal had done a good job hiding it, but Will had sensed his anger. He’d known that Hannibal wouldn’t be pleased to hear about his engagement to Alana, but he had not expected him to be so upset with him. Surely he had known that what they had done together as kids couldn’t continue? He had to have a wife and children and a family. It was what was expected of him.

“Will?” Alana watched him carefully. “Are you alright?”

Blinking, Will nodded. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Sorry. Come on; I’ll introduce you to Mischa. She’ll be thrilled to hear I’m getting married.”

Alana raised her brow. “Hmm.” She let him take her by the arm and lead her through the crowd, stopping every few moments to smile and greet someone pleasantly.

“Why is your uncle working today?” she suddenly asked. “On his niece’s wedding day?”

Will shrugged, “My uncle is a very important man,” he said evasively. “He’s always busy.”

“He’s an importer,” Alana said, sounding skeptical. “How busy could he possibly be?”

Will stopped walking and bit his lip. He turned to look at her. Her eyes were wide and curious and he felt a little pang of guilt slip inside. He hadn’t been entirely honest with Alana when he had told her about his family, but he had assumed that she at least had read the papers or heard some of the stories about his uncle.

“My uncle is not just a textile importer,” he said slowly, watching her reaction. She tilted her head toward him and he knew that he had her full attention. Part of him wished that she would dismiss him and laugh, thinking he was joking.

“What is he then?” she asked.

“Heh,” Will laughed nervously. “It isn’t the easiest thing to explain, Alana. My uncle – my uncle is a good man, but that doesn’t mean that he does good things.”

“What does that mean?” Alana asked.

“You really haven’t heard the stories?” he asked. “Never read about him in the papers? They write some colorful things about Robert Lecter.”

Alana squinted at him and tilted her head, “Are you telling me that your uncle is some sort of criminal, Will?”

Will almost smiled. She sounded interested rather than horrified. He figured she hadn’t quiet grasped what he was trying to tell her yet and he didn’t know how to do it without being blunt and possibly scaring her away for good.

“Yeah,” he said. “Some kind of criminal. He sometimes does some things that an ordinary citizen wouldn’t do and sometimes those things aren’t exactly legal. That doesn’t make him a bad person though. He’s just not doing things that are necessarily good.”

She stared at him for a long moment, her lips pressed together.

“I’m not like that though,” he said. “That’s my uncle, and my family. It isn’t me. I’m not a part of that.”

Alana smiled faintly and nodded, taking his hand. She didn’t seem to believe him entirely, but at least she had some idea of what he meant now. Of what his family was. He would have to explain it to her more clearly eventually, but it was enough for now. He took her hand again and started leading her forward.

“Come on,” he said. “We’re keeping Mischa waiting.”

* * *

The inside of the house was cool, especially compared to the heat outside. Hannibal allowed himself to relax somewhat as he slipped into his uncle’s office. It was dark inside. The lights were dim and the curtains were partially closed, only allowing a little bit of sunlight into the room. Robert Lecter sat at his desk, dressed in his neat black suit. He looked very much like his nephew – his hair slightly ashy and his face older, his eyes a lighter shade.

Hannibal moved to stand beside the window, peering out the sliver between the curtains. His eyes sought out Will. He found him quickly, talking with Mischa. Alana Bloom was at his side and he felt that anger and rage well up inside of him once more.

He tuned out most of his uncle’s words as he spoke with people – men coming to ask Robert Lecter for favors. A man who needed money to start a small business, a baker who needed help keeping his soon-to-be son-in-law from being deported, a man seeking justice for his brutalized daughter. Normally he would not be so rude, but Will’s engagement announcement had taken him by surprise and he couldn’t muster up the interest to listen. It was all very tedious, but his uncle took it to heart.

Robert Lecter was a generous man, no matter what the papers said about him. He opened his wallet and his friendship to anyone who was willing to accept it. Perhaps he was not the most ethical, the most moral of men, but Hannibal had always known his uncle to be a fair and reasonable business man. A man who loved his family and who cared for his friends. He had done his best to teach his nephew the same, and while Hannibal had certainly learned to value family above all and had learned much about justice and the business that his uncle had founded so many years ago, he did not have Robert Lecter’s warmth.

Hannibal could be a very kind man, a very fair man. But he was not a good man. He was not a decent man, and he knew it. The problems of others did not interest him, except perhaps the rare few. If they could somehow benefit him, then he would listen. His uncle had taught him well enough that he would never turn someone in need away. It was impolite. If there was anything Hannibal detested, it was rudeness.

As the last man left, tearfully thanking his uncle for his help, Robert stood and turned toward Tobias Budge, his closest confidant and advisor. Tobias had been close with the Lecter Family for many years, since his youth. Though he was young – not much older than Hannibal – he had risen quickly within the Family and had soon earned a trusted spot at Robert Lecter’s side.

“Was that the last one?” Robert asked. Tobias glanced down at the list of people who had asked to speak with him and nodded.

“That was everyone,” he said. “Also, Chilton called again. He’s getting impatient. I think you should meet with him sometime this week and hear his offer.”

Robert grimaced, but nodded. Hannibal knew that his uncle already knew Chilton’s offer and already knew that his answer would be ‘no’. He had waited until after Mischa’s wedding to avoid anything spoiling it, but he couldn’t put it off forever.

“We’ll discuss it after the wedding. Have they cut the cake yet?”

Tobias shook his head, “Not yet. In about half an hour. There’s still time to see Mischa off.”

“Good,” Robert said, looking relieved. He turned to his nephew, “When we meet with Chilton I want you to be there,” he said. “You’ve been away at school so long I fear that you will forget what you have learned.”

Hannibal nodded, his lips twisting faintly. “I would never forget, Uncle. And you were the one who insisted that I have an education.”

Robert laughed, the sound resonating deep within his throat. “When I suggested you go off to college, I had something more along the lines of politics in mind, not medicine.”

“Medicine is a noble pursuit,” Hannibal said. Robert nodded and put a hand on his shoulder, leading them out of the office.

“That it is,” he said. “Now tell me, how are things at your sister’s wedding? I haven’t been down since the ceremony. Has William shown up yet?”

Hannibal grimaced, but hid it quickly. “He arrived at the start of the reception,” he said. “He brought a girl with him.”

Robert’s face lit up, “A girl? That’s wonderful news. You’ll have to introduce us immediately.” He hesitated for a second and glanced over at his nephew. “I don’t suppose you’ve found a girl? Too busy with your schooling?”

“Studying does take up an unfortunate amount of my free time,”

Robert nodded. “Well, you’re young. You’ll find the right girl someday. I wasn’t married until after I came to this country. I wasn’t even looking for a girl when I met your aunt…” He launched into the familiar story of how he had met his wife Theresa. Hannibal smiled and nodded at the appropriate times, all the while knowing that he would never find the right girl. He didn’t want a girl. He wanted Will.

* * *

The sun was just starting to set when Will walked with Alana to the cab. He had originally planned to stay in a hotel with her, but his uncle had insisted that he stay at home at least one night and he couldn’t very well turn him down. Sleeping in the same bed with Alana while under the same roof as his uncle was out of the question; it wasn’t as if he hadn’t slept with Alana before, but Robert Lecter was extremely traditional when it came to marriage and sex and would not stand for an unwed couple to sleep together in his home.

Of course, Will had done far worse things in the dead of night, when he used to slip out of bed and sneak down to Hannibal’s bedroom. He always made it back to his room before dawn, though. Robert had no idea about those late night excursions and he never would if Will had anything to do about it.

“Thank you for a nice day, Will,” Alana said. She leaned up and kissed him softly on the mouth. “I wish you were coming to the hotel with me.”

Gently, Will kissed her back and let his hands wander down to her waist.

“Tomorrow night,” he said. “I promise. Let me spend some time with my aunt and uncle, catch up. I’ll be back before you know it.”

The cab was sitting at the curb, engine running. Alana sighed and slipped inside, blowing him a kiss before the car pulled away. Will stood there outside of the gates and watched them leave. As he turned to head back to the house a figure suddenly stepped out of the slowly growing shadows and blocked his path.

Blinking, Will stumbled back and frowned.

“This is private property,” he said, trying to sound forceful. The man was taller than he was, and larger. Trained eyes spotted the gun concealed at his side and he felt his heart start to pick up speed. He was unarmed and far away from the house.

The man pulled a flat wallet from inside his suit jacket and showed it to him.

“I know, Mr. Graham,” he said carefully. “I’m not trespassing. I just wanted to ask you a few questions about your… adopted family. Robert Lecter? I understand you’re close.”

Will had to squint to read the ID and he felt his mouth curl from years of conditioned disgust. It was an FBI badge with the man’s name. He cleared his throat and shook his head, “Sorry, Agent… Crawford. I have nothing to say to the FBI. My uncle is a legitimate businessman and nothing more.”

He started to move around the man, but Crawford caught him by the elbow. “Are you sure about that, Mr. Graham?”

Will stared down at the hand around his arm and fought the urge to yank it away. He looked up, just barely avoiding meeting Crawford’s eyes. “I’m sure. Goodnight, Agent.”

Once again, he tried to move away, but Crawford kept a firm grip on his arm. He slipped his free hand inside his coat again and produced a small business card. His name and number were printed in glossy black ink.

“If you change your mind, Mr. Graham, give me a call. I’d be very interested to hear what you have to say.”

He let go of Will’s arm then and tipped his hat slightly before turning and heading across the street. He climbed inside a car parked out of the way and Will frowned, watching him drive away. He looked down at the business card and crumbled it up, shoving it deep inside his pockets before heading back inside the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All mistakes are my own. Feel free to point out anything you see wrong here. Comments and critiques are welcome!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **EDIT:** I'm sorry about the wonky-ness in the second half. It copied wrong when I brought it over from Word. It's been fixed now, hopefully.
> 
> Small warning: sort-of-kind-of-almost incest. Is incest between not-really-adopted siblings a thing? If it is, that is here. Technically a given from the start, and it's not full-on sex ( _yet_ ) but better safe than sorry.
> 
> Thanks once more to all those who commented, left kudos or bookmarked this. I'm still amazed at the positive response!

Much of the remaining evening was spent talking with Robert and Theresa about Alana, or about Will’s schooling and his plans. When he explained that he wanted a small, quick marriage he had seen the suspicious gleam in his uncle’s eyes. He knew he assumed Alana was pregnant, but he did nothing to correct him. They asked where he was going to live once he was finished with school and what he was going to be.

“I’m going to be a history professor,” had certainly not been what his uncle Robert had expected to hear. Will wondered what he would have said if he knew that Will’s original choice had been to become a police officer. Part of him thought that his uncle would be unhappy, but understand his need to do what he wanted with his life. Another, slightly more cynical part of Will knew that his uncle would use any ties Will had to law enforcement to his own advantage. It wasn’t as if Robert didn’t already have some police officers working for him.

They had fixed up his old room for him, the one he hadn’t seen since he was eighteen years old. It felt strange to stand in there, to touch the large bed and its nice sheets. The nicest bed he’d slept on the past three years had been the lumpy mattresses at the dorms. The cabinet beside the bed was filled with Scotch and he smiled as he rested on the bed, discarding his jacket, and reached down to pull out a bottle.

A faint knock caused him to jerk up a bit too quickly and he nearly banged his head on the shelf. Sitting the bottle on top of the cabinet, Will glanced at the door. It was Hannibal, he knew. Hannibal had been trying to find him alone all night and he had strategically avoiding that at every turn. He suddenly wished Mischa were there. She would have been able to keep Will company and Hannibal would never confront him properly with her around.

“The door is open,” Will called after a long second. Hannibal stepped in slowly, his strange maroon eyes watching Will intently. He didn’t say anything at first so Will held up the Scotch and offered him a glass. Hannibal shook his head and murmured a soft ‘no thank you.’

Shrugging, Will poured his glass and put the bottle back. Hannibal moved slowly toward the bed and sat down next to Will. Will immediately stood and moved to sit in the chair opposite him, crossing his legs and staring down into the glass.

“Will,” Hannibal sighed heavily.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted. “I’m sorry.” He cleared his throat and cautiously looked up. Hannibal was watching him. “It’s not you, Hannibal. It’s... I lo- like you, Hannibal, but we can’t – we’re not – it’s wrong.”

Leaning forward, Hannibal shook his head. “Wrong?”

Will glared at him. “You’re not – We’re not _supposed to._ We’re men. We’re supposed to get married and have children and take care of our families. Not – not have secret love affairs with our brothers.”

“ _Adopted_ brother. And not even officially. You’re still William Graham,”

Will’s eyes jerked up to meet Hannibal’s. He was smirking faintly, his eyes glittering. Will’s fingers tightened around his glass and he took a harsh gulp before continuing, “This isn’t a fucking joke!” he snapped. “Uncle Robert would kill us if he – please. Just… You know as well as I do we can’t keep doing this.”

It was quiet for a moment. Will let himself hope that that was the end of it and Hannibal would realize he was serious and leave. Then Hannibal stood from the bed, the blankets rustling faintly, and moved toward him. He loomed over Will for a moment and then reached out, gently raising his chin so that he could look at his face.

“I will not lose you,” he said. There was finality in his words that shook Will to his core. He swallowed roughly and tried to look away, but Hannibal’s grip had no give. “For three years I worried that your letters would stop. I worried that Mischa would one day call me and tell me that you had been killed. Now you’re back and you’re trying to leave me again, Will. I can’t lose you.”

Will’s lips trembled. He remembered all those letters he’d written to Hannibal and his family while he was overseas. He never talked about the war. He talked about people and places, but never the bloodshed and carnage and sheer horror of it all. With shaking hands, he reached up and grasped Hannibal’s fingers around his chin, pulling them away.

His hand was warm and rough and familiar and Will wanted to lean into him and let him use those hands on him, just one last time. He bit his lip and let go.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “You don’t want me anyway,” his smile was crooked. “You’ll find some pretty woman and settled down and marry her. You’ll have children and a big house and you’ll be a surgeon like you want and everyone will talk about what a great family you have.”

He met his eyes. He didn’t like to, but maybe if he did Hannibal would know he was serious.

“You can’t have any of that if your carrying on like those fairies in those filthy clubs.”

Hannibal smiled a soft and sad smile and took Will’s hand in his own. He pulled it up to his lips and kissed the inside of his wrist softly.

“Do you know the problem with your argument, Will?” he asked. Will squirmed when Hannibal kissed his wrist again and started to move his mouth further up his arm. He tried half-heartedly to pull away, but Hannibal just smiled and continued. “I will not love that imaginary woman. I do not want her. I don’t want a big house or children or any of those ridiculously normal things. I want _you_.”

As he spoke, Hannibal had been pulling Will from his seat and Will let him. His insides were shaking and his whole body felt wired. Hannibal removed the glass from his white-knuckled fingers and sat it down on the cabinet. He smiled when Will was standing on his feet and pulled him toward him slowly. He could feel Will’s already half-erect penis through his trousers and he pressed a kiss to the side of his throat, inhaling sharply.

Will’s adam’s apple bobbed up and down and he squeezed his eyes shut. He had to take several deep breaths as Hannibal’s lips traveled up his neck and glided hotly across his jaw. It felt so good. It felt safe and familiar and wonderful.

And wrong. He could feel guilt and terror suddenly rising in his chest and he pushed Hannibal away. It wasn’t a hard push and Hannibal was stronger than he was, but he obliged with a faint frown.

“Will –“

“Maybe – maybe you don’t love that woman yet,” he said. “Maybe that’s because you haven’t met her, but – but I do. I love Alana, Hannibal. We’re going to be married. I’m going to have that life with the nice house and the children. I want to be normal. I _need_ to be normal. Alana makes me feel normal.”

There was a coldness that suddenly swept over Hannibal and for the first time in his life, Will felt a tingle of fear in the other man’s presence. It was gone in a moment though and Will felt sure that he had imagined it. Hannibal would never hurt him, not matter what happened between them. They were family, after all.

“You love her?” he sounded hurt and Will wanted to comfort him, wanted to step into his arms and tell him how sorry he was that this was happening, but it had to happen.

“I do,” he whispered. “I love her.”

Hannibal nodded curtly. He stood there in the same spot as if he were frozen. It felt like a lifetime before he finally moved. He stepped slowly toward Will and cupped his cheek.

“Would it be too much to ask for one last kiss?”

“Hannibal…”

“Please, Will.”

Will didn’t think he had ever heard Hannibal say please in his life. He was a profoundly polite person, but please was a word he never had to use and so he didn’t use it. He felt his heart ache a little at the wide, hurt look in Hannibal’s eyes. He nodded and met his halfway.

Hannibal’s lips were soft and warm and tasted like wine and cake – Mischa’s wedding cake. Will felt his tongue pressing against his lip and he opened his mouth slowly, carefully. Then it was all heat and passion and Will found himself pressed against Hannibal, molding to his body. He shut his eyes tight and let Hannibal’s tongue explore his mouth and trace his teeth. He was breathing hard and trying to remind himself why he and Hannibal could not be together, but it felt so wonderful. He hadn’t been kissed like this in years – not even by Alana.

When Hannibal’s hands traveled to the small of his back and held him there, keeping his hips pinned against him, Will pulled away. His breath was ragged, his chest was hot and he could feel the swell of arousal in his stomach. He stepped out of Hannibal’s arms and stared down at the floor.

Hannibal ran a hand through his hand fondly and kissed him chastely on the head.

“I really wish you wouldn’t do this, Will,” he said. “But I understand. I look forward to your wedding.”

He left quietly, the door clicking shut behind him. Will stared after him for a moment, his whole body hot and coursing with need. He wanted to go after him and tell him that he had made a mistake, but he didn’t. He turned and grabbed his forgotten glass of Scotch, downing the rest of it in one go before collapsing on the bed.

It took one flick of his wrist to undo the button on his trousers and he slid his hand inside, grasping himself between fumbling fingers and groaning loudly. It was hot and frantic and too fast. He came with a loud grunt and squeezed his eyes shut as shame washed over him.

It wasn’t Alana’s name he whispered as he felt tears prick his eyes. He refused to cry. He lay there, curled up and still in his suit, sweaty and filthy, and he said Hannibal’s name to the ceiling.

* * *

Will left the morning after Mischa’s wedding, telling everyone that he had to get back to school. Hannibal knew that he had stayed in New York for another day, spending it in a hotel with Alana Bloom. Every time he thought of her he found himself overtaken by that cold fury from before. She had stolen Will from him.

He had contemplated going to his uncle and making up some story about Will’s future bride. A story that would get her away from his William. She didn’t necessarily need to die to be removed from him, and he knew that his uncle did not simply have people killed without good cause. The only thing that stopped him was the fact that his uncle would demand real answers and evidence where Hannibal had none and he did not need Robert to be suspicious of him.

Will had not phoned once in the week after the wedding. Hannibal was not altogether surprised, but he still missed him. He had only gotten such a brief visit before Will took off again with Alana and he would likely not see him until Christmas.

He himself had been doubling his time – classes during the day and working with his uncle at night. Exactly a week after the wedding his uncle had scheduled a meeting with Frederick Chilton, a doctor at an asylum in Baltimore, which was how he first came aware of the growing power of narcotics. He saw it in his patients and the on the streets and for the last several years had made money producing and distributing heroin. He wanted to move his business to New York and he had the support of one of the other powerful families in the area.

They met at the Lecter Family home, Tobias, Robert and Hannibal together. Chilton came alone. He was not a particularly tall or powerful looking man, but he held himself as if he were royal, with his chin up and his back straight. Hannibal took a dislike to the man the moment he met him. He had flat, dark eyes that seemed to sometimes gleam like oil.

Chilton proposed a deal with Robert that Hannibal already knew his uncle would turn down.

“I’ve got the poppy fields in Turkey,” he explained. “They’re safe, one hundred percent. I’ve got contacts there to make sure everything goes well. They ship to the factories in Sicily, where they process it and turn it into heroin – or morphine if there is any trouble. I have the support of the Tattaliga family here and their contacts in Sicily to make sure the factories are safe. The problem is bringing it into this country. I need financing and protection.

“You have all the political contacts in New York. With your family protecting us, we should be able to get the products on the streets with no problem. The men would be clean, no records so they don’t spend fifteen or twenty years in prison if they’re caught. You have the most political muscle so I need your influence to keep my men out of prison.”

They would take some losses – they could not buy the FBI, which would always be a problem – but Chilton assured them that they would still make money.

“This drugs business is rising,” he said. “Gambling isn’t going to be the big money maker for much longer.”

Robert listened to it all impassively. Hannibal knew that he was going to turn him down. He also knew that Tobias thought it was a mistake. They would lose money and eventually power because of Robert’s refusal. Hannibal could see the logic in going with Chilton’s offer as well – the money was going to the drugs and money was power. If his uncle wanted to remain the most powerful Family in New York, he had to agree to Chilton’s deal.

“If your men have clean records the judges will be fair to them without my Family’s help,” he said. “Why have you come to me? Why does my Family deserve such a generous offer?”

Chilton hesitated, but spoke with the same forceful determination.

“I need two million dollars,” he said. “We need the start up money. You will get a share of the money when we start selling, of course. After two or three years you would be up by three, four million.”

Robert seemed to consider it, “What would my share be?”

“Fifty percent,” Chilton spoke without hesitation. Hannibal frowned. Fifty percent to his uncle meant that the Tattaligas were to be paid from Chilton’s share. That did not seem right. He could see by the shine in his uncle’s eyes that he knew that as well. It was still an incredible offer, however, and Hannibal wished that Tobias had argued better for it.

“That is a very generous offer indeed,” Robert said. Chilton looked excited, his flat eyes gleaming. It was inevitable that Robert would turn him down at that moment. “But I cannot accept your offer.” Chilton deflated and a sour, awful look crossed his features, but he quickly schooled his expression. Hannibal got an uneasy feeling when the man stared coldly back at Robert.

“I want no part of this drugs business,” Robert explained. “It’s a dangerous and dirty business. My friends in the police department and government would not look so kindly on me if I were supply narcotics instead of gambling. Gambling is a harmless vice. Narcotics are not.”

Chilton stood and nodded curtly.

“I understand,” he said. “Thank you for hearing my offer.” He paused for a moment on his way out and said, “You have a lovely home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I lied a little. I decided to include the other four Families from the book/film. It's easier (and a bit lazier, I admit) than coming up with other names for the Families. I hope you guys don't mind. It does make it seem odd considering that the Lecter Family is now the only non-Italian Family... Hmmm.
> 
> As always, all mistakes are mine. Comments and critques are welcome!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentines Day!
> 
> What better way to celebrate than with fanfic?
> 
> Enjoy!

_New York City – December, 1945_

_Christmas Eve_

The sky over the city was a lackluster color, all grey and dull from the clouds. There was no snow, but the sidewalks were covered in a thin layer of frost and windshields and windows were decorated with sleet. Dirty, slushy ice patches littered the sides of the roads.

Robert Lecter was wearing his nicest winter coat, buttoned up to his throat. He smiled pleasantly at the doorman of his city apartment, where he went to do business and meet with people who could not afford to have their faces seen at the house in Long Beach – usually because of the FBI sniffing around the property.

Despite the chill in the air, the feeble sunlight presented some warmth and Robert was in a cheerful mood. It was Christmas Eve and his niece, her husband and his nephew would be joining them for dinner that night and the following night. William, unfortunately, was reportedly still at school and would not arrive until the following morning.

He spotted the car, the windshield scraped clear of ice and the black paint glistening, waiting at the curb for him. His usual driver, a wiry man called Freddy Lounds, was absent from behind the wheel. In his stead, Franklyn Froidevaux was standing beside the car, prepared to open the door for him. Franklyn was an eager, overly-excitable and soft man. He wasn’t the type of person Robert usually employed, but he was loyal to a fault and always willing to serve the Lecter Family in any way possible.

Before getting into the car, Robert stopped beside a fruit stand that was standing on the corner sidewalk outside of the apartment building. He had developed the habit of purchasing from the vendor whenever he was in the city. The out-of-season fruits had become something of a craving since the start of winter. The little man peddling the stand smile and greeted him, helpfully placing the fruits Robert pointed out into a stiff paper bag for him to carry.

It was as Robert was paying the man and turning toward the car that he spotted the two men coming around the corner. They were walking briskly, hands shoved deep inside their pockets. The collars of their coats were turned up and they wore their hats tipped down over their faces. Instantly, Robert felt the thrill of adrenaline rush through his veins. He could sense the danger before the first man even drew his weapon.

He dived toward the car with a shout to Franklyn, but he didn’t make it. The first bullet caught him in the shoulder, sending the bag of fruits flying through the air. The second hit him in the side and he went down. He had time to see Franklyn, pale as a ghost, fumble for his own gun. The next four bullets hit him in the back and knocked him face down into the icy concrete.

By the time Franklyn – pale and shaking and in shock – had managed to get his gun out, the two men were shoving their weapons away and running. People on the streets had dived for cover where they could find it. The little fruit peddler was hiding behind his stand, cowering there with his hands over his ears.

The slush and ice on the ground was soon painted red with Robert’s blood. He became dimly aware of other voices. A crowd gathered around his body and he could hear Franklyn, sobbing and screaming and trying to push them back. Robert was unconscious before the ambulance arrived.

* * *

Several blocks away and less than five minutes later, Tobias Budge was leaving his office in the city. He was looking forward to spending Christmas with his wife and regretting slightly the invitation he had extended to Franklyn Froidevaux earlier that week. The man had no family and no girl to keep him warm at night. Tobias had taken pity on him, but now he was wondering what it would take to tell him he had to change his plans.

He didn’t see the car pull up along side of him until Frederick Chilton was suddenly standing in front of him. Tobias stood nearly three inches above the man, but Chilton’s eyes gleamed with an unsettling light and he stumbled back, frowning.

When Chilton put a hand on his arm, he pulled it back.

“I just want to talk to you,” he said. “Nothing to worry about. Don’t try to run off. Your boss is dead and I want to talk business.”

_Dead._ Tobias felt the blow hit him harder than he’d expected. He had worked with the Lecter Family for years and had been Robert Lecter’s closest advisor. Closer even than his own family. The gleam in Chilton’s eyes grew as he stepped back again and saw two men come out of nowhere, standing threateningly at his side.

Some part of him felt the tugs of loyalty slipping. If Robert was dead, Hannibal would be in charge. He was loyal to Robert, but Hannibal was not his uncle. He had always been colder toward Tobias and he knew he was not particularly fond of him. With Robert dead and Hannibal in charge, Tobias had no doubt he was out of a job. Unless he could offer some sort of insight in the death of Hannibal’s uncle. He nodded stiffly and Chilton smiled at him, gesturing for him to get in the car.

He did so without a fuss.

* * *

That night, Will and Alana left the theater arm-in-arm. Alana was beaming as they walked down the frosty sidewalk, the excitement of Christmas thrilling in the air. Shop windows were lit up with bright lights and filled with toys and decorations. It was a beautiful, merry sight. Will had insisted on taking her to Christmas breakfast with his family and she talked nervously about the gifts she’d gotten them all.

She didn’t know any of them very well, having only met them at the wedding, but she hoped they would appreciate her presents.

“I found a lovely set of earrings for your sister,” she said. “I worried they wouldn’t suit her style, but they were so beautiful and not very expensive.”

Will smiled at her, “She’ll love them, Alana. She’s already thrilled just to have a new sister-in-law soon.” He laughed and the sound was for once not as nervous as it had been. “She always wanted a sister.”

Alana laughed too, but then her smile vanished. “I have no idea what I should get for your brother though. What sort of things does he like? You said he was studying medicine, but he’s probably already got his fill of that.”

For a moment, Will’s expression turned stony and he shrugged. “Alana, you don’t have to get him anything. None of them. They don’t expect you to, I promise.”

“I want to,” she insisted. “They’re your family and they love you. I want to do something nice for them.”

There was no convincing her, Will realized. He wrapped his arm around her waist and thought for a moment. “You could get him a tie,” he suggested.

Alana nodded, “Alright then, a tie it is. We’ll pick it up after our dinner.” Then she glanced up at him and nudged him slightly. “And what about you? What should I get you?” she teased.

He pretended to consider that for a very long moment before he kissed her cheek lightly. “Just you,”

“Oh, Will,” she slapped him playfully. “I’m serious!”

“So am I,” Will grinned at her and she huffed, shaking her head.

“You’ve already got me,” she said, stopping in the middle of the street. She turned them both around and wrapped her arms around his middle, kissing him softly on the mouth. When she started to pull back, Will held her still and deepened the kiss. Her lips were soft and she tasted like sugar. When he finally pulled away, she let out a breathless laugh.

“Keep that up and we’ll miss our reservations,” she said.

Will pressed his lips together, “Why don’t we?” he asked.

“What?”

“Let’s go back to the hotel,” he said, nuzzling her hair gently. “We’ll order room service. We’ve only got one more night and then we’ll be swarmed with my family.”

Alana grinned at him and took his hand, her eyes sparkling. That was one of the things Will loved about Alana – she wasn’t afraid to say yes like other girls were. If she had been like any girl he’d known before she would’ve acted coy and batted her lashes at him and told that she didn’t do that kind of thing, but Alana never pretended with anything, not even sex.

The inside of the hotel was warm and familiar and Will was going to miss the privacy and the quietness of it once he went back home. He kissed Alana softly on the cheek.

“I’ve just got to check the desk for any messages. Tobias was supposed to phone me back. Can you grab a paper for me and meet me in the room?”

She nodded and headed toward the paper stand just inside the door. Will hurried to the front desk, but there were no calls for him from Tobias. That was strange. Tobias had promised to call and he’d never forgotten to do something like that. As he turned to head upstairs to the room he spotted Alana, staring down at the newspaper in her hands. Her face was ashen and her eyes were wide.

“Alana?”

She looked up at him and her expression was awful. He felt his gut clench.

“Oh, Will…” she held the paper out to him. It was from that afternoon and he stared down at the photograph that was splashed across the front, his eyes not even reading the headline at first. There was his uncle, sprawled on the ground, face down. He recognized Franklyn and the street they were on. He tried to understand what it meant, but he couldn’t quiet put it all together.

His hands gripped the paper so tightly that it began to tear and Alana touched his shoulder softly. “Will? Will are you okay?”

He wrenched away from her and read the headline, suddenly desperate to know what had happened.

**NEW YORK MOB BOSS SHOT**

He tore the paper open, eyes scanning the text, trying to find out what had happened. There was mention of the gunshots and ambulances, but not one word on whether Robert Lecter had survived the shooting. His blood ran cold and he threw the paper to the ground. He was only dimly aware of Alana following him as he raced to their hotel room.

The phone was in his hand before he had realized what he was doing. It rang and rang and with each ring Will felt his heart speed up. Alana was at his side again and then she was sitting on the bed, watching him with sober, concerned eyes. She said nothing and Will was grateful for that.

_“Hello?”_

Finally, someone had answered! He recognized Hannibal’s voice and his gut gave a giant heave.

“Hannibal? It’s Will.”

_“Will! Thank God! We have been trying to find you since we heard. Where have you been?”_

“I’m in the city. At a hotel. Didn’t you talk to Tobias yet?” Will’s words were flustered and rushed and he heard the phone casing cracking as he held on to the receiver too tightly.

_“No, we haven’t been able to find Tobias yet.”_

That was bad. Will knew that was bad. He wanted to ask a million questions. He wanted to know what had happened, who shot Uncle Robert, how was Aunt Theresa, did Mischa know yet? Instead he asked the question he was dreading.

“I saw the papers, about the shooting. They don’t say –“

_“He’s alive.”_ Hannibal’s response was quick and Will felt himself relax some. _“He took six bullets, and he has lost a considerable amount of blood, but he is still breathing.”_

“Thank God,” Will sank down onto the mattress beside Alana and felt her fingers rest on his leg gently. He clutched at them with his free hand.

“Is there anything I can do? Have you told Aunt Theresa – Mischa?”

_“Yes, as soon as I heard. Mischa was with me when we got the news. I informed Aunt Theresa. Will, I want you to come home. I don’t think that they’ll try anything else, but I would feel better if you were here where I could be sure.”_

“Of course,” Will nodded. “Of course. I’ll get a cab –“

_“I’d rather you not. I’ll send someone to pick you up, alright? Wait at your hotel.”_

Will wanted to protest, but it was the most reasonable thing to do. Even though he wasn’t part of his uncle’s business, and most people would not dream of harming someone outside of the Family that way, they could never be too careful. He gave Hannibal the name of the hotel and the room number and assured him that he would wait.

As he placed the phone back in the cradle he leaned over and scrubbed his hands over his face. Alana moved her hand from his leg to his back.

“Are you alright, Will?”

He sat up and stood, “Yeah. I’m fine. Listen, you need to get home, okay? I don’t want you getting mixed up in any of this.”

“Will –“

“No,” Will shook his head. “Alana, you don’t understand. My Uncle isn’t just some slightly unethical man, okay? He’s a killer. He’s had people killed and now people are trying to kill him. I don’t want you hurt.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be fine. You just get back home. I’m sure this’ll blow over soon. I’ll call you as soon as I can, alright?”

Alana looked like she wanted to argue more, but Will was already calling a cab for her and she sighed.

“Okay. Call me when you can. Tell your family merry Christmas for me.” She kissed him softly before starting to pack her things. Will watched her and felt sick. He wanted more than anything to go back with her, but he couldn’t. No matter what his family was and what his uncle did for a living, he owed them this much. He wouldn’t run away when he could do something to help.

“Be careful, Will,” Alana said before she left. “…I love you.”

Will nodded stiffly. His smile felt like a grimace and stared down at his hands. “Love you, too,” he whispered after she had already closed the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, all mistakes are my own. Comments and critiques are welcome with open arms!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you guys so much for the comments, kudos and bookmarks. I really hope you continue to enjoy the story!

Will didn’t recognize the driver that Hannibal had sent to pick him up from the hotel. He hesitated for a moment before climbing inside, but he recognized the car and the man didn’t seem intent on shooting him the second he closed the door, so he felt safe enough.

He was out of the car and rushing to the front door before the engine had stopped running. He didn’t bother knocking as he entered the house. Barely two steps inside he was nearly tackled to the floor by a small, blond blur that he slowly realized was Mischa.

“Oh, Will, you’re alright! We were so worried…” she stepped back after a second and wiped at her eyes. She was pale and shaking and Will pulled her forward for another hug, surprised at how much tension had flowed out of him upon seeing her.

“I’m fine,” he promised her, kissing her hair softly before letting her go. “How’s the old man? Any news?”

Mischa pressed her trembling lips together and shook her head, “Hannibal is in his office, trying to find out anything, but we haven’t gotten word from the hospital yet.” She paused and stepped closer, eyes darting around the room. There were several men – most of them unfamiliar to Will – milling around. They were all armed and Will felt his gut tighten.

“They took Tobias,” she whispered. “Hannibal didn’t want me to know, but I heard him on the phone.”

Tobias had been taken? It suddenly hit Will that this was serious, far more serious than he had originally imagined. Tobias, while an integral part of his uncle’s criminal network, was not a threat. He wasn’t on the muscle and enforcement end of the business. Taking him meant that they – whoever they were – were leery of a war breaking out.

Looking around, Will’s eyes found Mason Verger and he gently pushed her toward him. “Go sit with your husband,” he told her. “I’ll find Hannibal and see if he can tell me anything new, alright?”

Sighing, Mischa nodded. “He’s taking care of Family things right now, Will,” she warned him. “I wouldn’t interrupt him.”

Will smiled crookedly, “I’ll be quick about it.”

He left Mischa in the den and made his way to the stairs. He passed Winston, looking old and sick, at the door and couldn’t stop himself from kneeling. Poor Winston looked like he barely clinging to life. He petted the dog’s warm fur and closed his eyes. If he concentrated hard enough he could still remember the days when he would play in the summer heat, with Mischa giggling and Hannibal watching impassively.

“Hey, Winston,” he whispered, rubbing the old dog’s ears. “I’ve missed you.”

Winston let out a pitiful, mournful sound. Even the dog knew something was wrong in the house and Will felt himself starting to crack. He couldn’t let that happening, especially not here in front of all these people. He stood and headed for his uncle’s office.

From outside of the door he could hear voices, a couple of familiar voices and then Hannibal, speaking in deep, careful tones. He tapped on the door gently and the sounds died almost immediately. The door was pulled open by a familiar face – Abel Gideon. He ran one of the groups in Brooklyn. The man had sharp eyes and an unsettling sort of smile.

“Will!” Hannibal spoke from somewhere behind Gideon and the man stepped aside, allowing Will entrance, though he didn’t appear happy about it. Will stepped inside and was quickly pulled into another embrace; this one lasted considerably less time than Mischa’s had. Hannibal stepped away and moved back around to Robert’s old desk.

“I’m glad to see you got here safely,” Hannibal said, smiling faintly. Will nodded, but said nothing, instead looking around the office. He rarely ever came into this room of the house – it had been off-limits when they were children and his lack of interest in his uncle’s business had kept it that way as he grew older.

After a moment, he looked back at Hannibal and found him staring at him intently. He cleared his throat and shifted awkwardly on his feet.

“Have you heard anything new?”

Hannibal shook his head, “Nothing since he was stabilized at the hospital. He is still not conscious, but he is breathing.”

Will nodded and then frowned. “What the hell happened, Hannibal? Didn’t he have men with him? To protect him? How did they even get to him?”

Hannibal sighed and sank down into his uncle’s chair. Will looked away when he realized how perfectly at ease he looked sitting in that seat. It suited him more than Will wanted to admit.

“It has been over ten years since someone was foolish enough to make an attempt on Uncle Robert’s life. Security has been lax; he felt one man was sufficient protection. Unfortunately, Franklyn panicked. He hasn’t even spoke since the shooting and the doctors are saying that he is in shock.”

Will narrowed his eyes. “Franklyn? But Freddy Lounds is supposed to be his driver, isn’t he?”

Something changed in Hannibal’s face. It was subtle, but Will felt the tension suddenly rise a few degrees and he took an involuntary step back.

“He was,” he said. “However, Freddy seems to have been suffering off and on all winter with a cold. He did not show up this morning and Franklyn was called in to take over for him.”

Will felt his gut clench. He had never liked Freddy Lounds, but the way Hannibal was look at him, with those dark, dangerous eyes made him nervous. He knew without a doubt that Hannibal suspected Freddy had betrayed them and if that were true, Freddy’s days were numbered.

He had always known that his uncle and Hannibal, were criminals. They were his family, but they were not always very nice people. It hadn’t quite seemed real, though, until he found himself standing in that office and realizing that a man’s life was at stake. He shivered and changed the subject.

“And Tobias?”

“No word,” Hannibal shook his head. “We received a call from Chilton a few hours ago telling us that he had been taken; he wanted to organize a negotiation to prevent all-out war.”

“That was when he thought your uncle was dead,” Gideon suddenly spoke up. “Now, we don’t know what he’s planning to do. If he’s got word that the old man survived he’ll know we have no other option but to go to war, just to prevent more assassination attempts.”

Will stared at Gideon and wanted him to take those words back. A war? Against the other Families and without Uncle Robert, they would be destroyed. Even with Hannibal leading them, they were outnumbered and certainly outgunned.

He wanted to ask more, to argue more, but there was another knock on the door and Gideon turned to let in a tall, frighteningly muscular man that Will knew immediately. Francis Dolarhyde. He had been with the Lecter Family for many years and was an immensely intimidating ally. Will immediately shifted back and away from Dolarhyde as he entered the room, a grim expression on his face.

“Tobias is back,” he said. “They dropped him off a minute ago. He’s outside, waiting. Says Chilton has a message for you.” Dolarhyde spoke with a lisp – when he spoke, which was rare. His face was scarred and mangled looking from below his nose to his chin. Will never knew how he got those scars and Hannibal always told him that he didn’t want to know.

“Will,” Hannibal caught his attention and Will turned back toward him. “Why don’t you go and check on Aunt Theresa? She has been anxious to see you.”

With a jolt, Will realized he wasn’t entirely welcome here. He shouldn’t have been so surprised – he had not made his feelings about his uncle’s business a secret, after all. It hurt though, on some level, to be relegated to taking refuge with the women. He frowned and stayed rooted to the spot.

“I can do something,” he insisted. “I can –“

“What you can do is make sure that Aunt Theresa is alright. In the morning you and Mischa can accompany her to the hospital, but right now, I must attend to this.” Hannibal’s tone left no room for argument and Will had never felt so betrayed in his life. He nodded curtly and turned to leave.

“And Will? Please tell Tobias to come in as soon as he has finished assuring his wife he is alright. We need to speak with him.”

Anger and hurt boiled under Will’s skin, but he nodded. He said nothing else as he left and he felt the walls shake slightly with the force of him slamming the door to the office.

* * *

Theresa Lecter was in the kitchen when Will found her. She was a small and delicate looking woman, much like Mischa. If it weren’t for the forcefulness in her eyes, Will might have doubted that this woman could be married to a man like Robert Lecter and not crack under the strain. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun and she wore an apron over her dress that was dotted with fresh stains.

He smiled and shook his head. His aunt cooking was a familiar sight. He remembered her teaching Hannibal how to cook when they were younger. Mischa and Will had never taken interest in it, despite his aunt warning Mischa that she would need to feed her husband somehow. Hannibal, though, had loved it. Seeing her cooking now made him think of easier times, when he was still a child and this wonderful family had taken him in off the streets.

He cleared his throat to announce his presence. “I think Christmas dinner is canceled this year, Aunt Theresa.”

She turned from the stove where she was stirring some sauce and yanked him into yet another hug. “William! I’m so glad you’re alright.” She stepped back and placed her hands on his shoulders. “You heard about your uncle?” she asked, her voice going down a few octaves as she stared right into his eyes.

He nodded. “Hannibal told me,” he said.

She nodded and let her hands fall away. “Robert will be fine,” she said. “He is strong. This isn’t the first time men have tried to take him away from me.”

She turned back toward the stove and Will followed her there, glancing at the pots that were littering the surface with bubbling things inside. She smiled at him, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“He will be pleased to see you tomorrow,” she said. “We’ll go to the hospital first thing.”

Will raised a brow, “And bring him dinner?”

“Of course!” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “It is Christmas tomorrow. We can’t miss Christmas dinner.”

“I’m sure he’d understand if you didn’t, Aunt Theresa.”

She frowned and shook her head. “It is not about him. It is about Christmas, it’s about family. We must remember that, even in bad times. Family is everything, William.”

He sighed and nodded, “Alright. Family is everything. Are you planning to convince Hannibal on coming too? He seemed busy.”

Theresa huffed, “That boy. He’s worse than your uncle, always busy. Always working.” She shook her head. “He’s stubborn.” She tapped the spoon she was using on the edge of the pot and stared down at it for a long moment before looking up at Will with curious eyes.

“Where is your girlfriend? She was supposed to come with you tomorrow.”

“She went back to her parent’s place,” Will said. “I didn’t want her around while all of this is happening. I’ll call her as soon as we know how Uncle Robert is doing.”

She pressed her lips together, “If you don’t let her be a part of everything in your life, how will you know that she really loves you?”

Will blinked. “She loves me,” he said. “And this isn’t – I mean – I’m not a part of this. Not like Hannibal is.”

Theresa gave him a skeptical look, “We are all a part of this, William. This is your family, too. Don’t forget that.”

* * *

That night Will couldn’t sleep. He sat up in his old bedroom and stared at the walls. Just the day before everything had felt so secure and now everything was thrown out of order. He could still remember the last time that his uncle had been shot – it was a long time ago and everything had been tense and grim for weeks after, but things had settled down quickly enough.

This didn’t feel like that time. This felt bigger. Hannibal’s private meeting with Tobias, Gideon and Dolarhyde made it bigger. Six bullets to the back and Robert Lecter in a coma made it bigger. Talks of war made it terrifying. Hannibal never acted rashly, never did anything without a plan, but what if Gideon were right and war was their only option? What then?

He wished he knew more about what was going on. Who was Chilton and why had he tried to have their uncle killed? What made them so sure that Chilton would try for another hit? What sort of message had Tobias brought to Hannibal? If Hannibal hadn’t shut him out like he was some child – like he was some naïve civilian – he could’ve helped.

It was well after two in the morning when the knock on his door came. It took him almost a full minute to stand from his seat and make his way over. Hannibal was standing there, still dressed in a neat brown suit and his hair still carefully combed away from his face. He looked softer, somehow, in the dim light and Will had never wanted so badly for him to hold him before.

He cleared his throat and stepped aside to let him in.

“What is it?”

“I wanted to make sure that you were alright,” Hannibal said.

Will scowled at him. “I’m fine. Aside from you shutting me out and leaving me to go sit around in the kitchen like a goddamn woman.”

Hannibal’s brows knitted together and he tilted his head slightly, the perfect expression of confusion. Will didn’t buy it for a second. “I thought that was what you wanted, Will,” he said. “You wanted no part in the Family business before.”

Will laughed bitterly, “Don’t give me any bullshit,” he said. “You know this isn’t like that. He’s my uncle too and you know I want to help. I want to do something besides sit on my thumbs.”

“I don’t think you understand what you’re asking of me,” Hannibal said. “If I let you help, you will likely hear and see things you will not like. I know you, Will. You would not like to hear the things that we must to do ensure Uncle Robert’s safety, and the security of the Family.”

Clenching his fists, Will let out an annoyed grunt. “I’m not a child. I don’t care what I hear, Hannibal. I’m capable of helping. I’ll answer the damn phones if that’s what you want, but let me do _something_.”

Hannibal looked thoughtful for a moment. “Uncle Robert would not be pleased to hear that you are helping, no matter how small. He has always been very proud of you for deciding to make your own way.”

Will’s chest heave and he sighed, “I’m not joining up for Christ’s sake. I just want to help you find who did this and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Maroon eyes sparkled at him and Hannibal nodded, “Tomorrow then,” he said. “After you return from the hospital. I’ll find something for you to do.”

Some of the anger evaporated then and he closed his eyes. He still felt a knot inside of him, a swelling of tension that wouldn’t go away no matter how hard he tried to ignore it.

“Are you really going to start a war?” he whispered.

“I would like to avoid it at all costs,” Hannibal said. Will didn’t hear him move closer, but suddenly he was standing right there in front of him, putting one hand on his face gently. He opened his eyes and stared at Hannibal’s face, his eyes tracing the familiar lines of it. “I may not have a choice, but I will do whatever it takes to avoid bloodshed.”

Will nodded. “Good. That’s good.”

Hannibal’s lips twisted into a soft smile and he pressed a chaste kiss on his forehead before letting his hand drop.

“You should get some rest, Will. I will see you in the morning.”

He left quietly and Will found himself raising his hand to touch where Hannibal’s had been. He felt his gut twist again, trying to ignore the way Hannibal’s fingers had burned his skin. He wanted him to touch him away, to hold him and kiss him until the tension in him went away, but he didn’t.

He sank back down into his chair and closed his eyes and started sobbing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All mistakes are my own. Comments and critques are welcome. I'm not quite sure how I feel about this chapter... Kind of nervous about it, but I don't know why.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who else is excited for season two tonight! I can't wait! :D

When Will had said that he would answer the phones if that was all he could do, he had been joking. Hannibal, however, had apparently not gotten the joke. The following afternoon, after returning from the hospital, Will found himself seated at his uncle’s desk, fielding phone calls like some secretary. Hannibal had insisted that it was for his own safety, which only served to make Will angrier; he was a grown man and he didn’t need Hannibal to protect him from anything.

It did come with some small advantage, of course. Sitting in Robert’s office gave Will a front row seat to all the conversations and planning that Hannibal and his uncle’s men were having. He eventually learned that Chilton was a doctor and a heroin smuggler trying to get the drugs into the U.S. The hit on Robert had been because he had refused to finance Chilton’s narcotics operation.

“With your uncle in critical condition, Chilton knows he has to move fast,” Tobias said. “If the old man had died you would have no choice but to take his deal, but while he’s still alive…”

“We have a chance to come back from this,” Hannibal nodded. Will could tell that he wanted revenge; Hannibal was calculating and careful, but he did not take well to people threatening his family and Will had no doubt that Hannibal would find a way to make Frederick Chilton pay for what he had done.

“Exactly,” Tobias nodded. “Our biggest worry is that he knows you aren’t going to bow out with Robert still breathing. As long as your uncle is alive he knows that we’ll be gunning for him. If he gets another hit in on your uncle, he’ll figure you’ll take his deal. Without Robert we lose a lot of our power, especially the political contacts.”

“He won’t get to Uncle Robert again,” Hannibal said confidently. “Gideon has his men at the hospital and Uncle Robert had contacts within the NYPD; they’ll keep his protected while he is there, until we can move him back home.”

The door to the office opened and Abel Gideon entered, sweating slightly in spite of the chill outside. He closed the door behind him carefully. His eyes swept over Will, seated at the desk by the phone, and he didn’t hide the slight sneer on his face. Will was used to that look from his uncle’s men by then. A lot of them thought he was too soft to be doing anything like this.

“I’m picking up Freddy tonight,” Gideon said as he took a seat beside Tobias. “I told him we’re scouting out apartments in case things get tough with Chilton and we have to go to the mattresses.”

For a moment, Will felt fear slide up his spine. Going to the mattresses meant that they were planning a war and Hannibal would be setting men up in apartments throughout the city to hide out and take out men from the other families. Then Will realized that Gideon had said he was taking _Freddy_ to do the job and the fear turned into a nauseous twist in his gut. It dawned on him slowly that Freddy Lounds was going to die. It bothered him a lot less than it should have, all things considered.

If Hannibal was having Lounds killed that meant he was a traitor and had set up Robert to be killed. Will couldn’t quite find it in him to be bothered by his impending death; he deserved what was coming to him.

The phone rang and Will snatched it quickly from its cradle. “Hello?” He kept his voice low and careful; Hannibal had told him not to use Robert’s name over the phone in case they were tapped. It was Dolarhyde on the other end. His lisp made everything he said hard to decipher, but Will was careful not to ask him to repeat himself. He was calling to let Hannibal know that he had learned where Chilton was hiding out: with Bruno Tattaliga in his family home.

Which proved beyond a doubt that if it came to a war, the Tattaligas would fight alongside of Chilton.

Hannibal was watching him when he hung up and turned to face the room again. “That was Dolarhyde,” he said. “Chilton’s holed up with the Tattaligas; there’s not getting to him while he’s in there.”

“Damn,” Tobias swore and shook his head. “He won’t be coming out, Hannibal. Not until you agree to his deal or the old man is dead.”

Hannibal nodded pensively. “We will have to wait him out then,” he said. “He will eventually have to come out. Once he realizes that he cannot get to Uncle Robert, he’ll call to make another deal to avoid bloodshed and to save his own life.”

“Or he’ll take another shot at Robert,” Tobias warned. “If he takes him out we’ll be lost.”

Something dark changed in Hannibal’s eyes. “If he succeeds in taking my uncle’s life, he will die.”

Tobias leaned forward, an urgent, worried look on his face. “You take out Chilton and the Tattaligas will come after you; they’re backing him, Hannibal. If Robert were here, maybe we could take them on, but without him? The other Families will side with them just to avoid the war. We’ll be crushed.”

“Then we will have to make sure that Chilton is not able to make another attempt on my uncle’s life,” Hannibal said sternly. The room seemed to drop a few degrees and Will shifted uncomfortably. For a moment, he saw something in Hannibal features that made him want to get out of the office as fast as he could. He bit his lip and looked away again.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t understand Hannibal anger at the moment. He just didn’t want to feel that dark emotion rolling off of him. Being scared of Hannibal was something Will couldn’t allow himself to feel.

* * *

It was not the usual Christmas dinner at the Lecter home that night. Hannibal assisted his aunt in the kitchen as much as he was able to in between giving orders to his uncle’s men and calling the doctor to check on Robert’s condition, which had not changed.

Instead of the rather small gathering of family, the dining room was overflowing with loud, crass men sporting weapons. Hannibal didn’t particularly mind, but he would have much preferred a more intimate dinner. He’d spent so little time alone with either Mischa or Will and he had been looking forward to finally be able to see them both again.

Perhaps the only good thing to come out of this mess was that Will had sent his fiancée back home, allowing Hannibal time to think of ways to win him back. It was possibly not the most opportune time to do anything about their relationship, but Will’s insistence on helping them was a good excuse to spend more time with him at any rate.

He passed Will, who was talking quietly on the phone in the kitchen, and slowed his pace to hear what he was saying.

“I know,” Will whispered, glancing around to check if he was being overheard. “I miss you too.”

Hannibal fought not to show the suddenly surge of anger that coursed through him. Of course Will would be speaking to Alana Bloom; who else could he have wanted to call on Christmas Day?

“I’ll be back as soon as this all blows over, Alana, I promise. …No, I don’t know how much longer. He isn’t looking too good, but he breathing. …I do too. …No, I can’t. …Yeah. When I see you, alright? I’ll call you.”

Hannibal raised a brow curiously and silently moved until he was standing behind Will. “I thought that you loved her,” he said.

Will jumped and spun around, his eyes wide as he stared at him. He swallowed roughly and set his jaw. “I do,” he said.

“Then why didn’t you tell her so over the phone?”

Will made a face and pushed past him. “Because there are about fifteen men here who would’ve overheard it and treated it like some joke. It doesn’t mean I don’t l- care about her.”

Hannibal fell instep beside Will and shook his head, “I didn’t mean to offend you, Will. I was merely curious because you were so adamant about your feelings for her before.”

Will stopped and closed his eyes. “I still am,” he said. His words were a hoarse whisper. “Please, Hannibal, can we – can you not do this? Especially not now, not with Uncle Robert being in the hospital. Please, just accept that I’m going to marry her.”

Hannibal nodded and placed a hand gently on Will’s shoulder. “I already have,” he assured him. “I won’t bring her up again.”

Will cleared his throat and nodded jerkily. “Thank you,” he said.

They walked together to the dining room in silence and Hannibal searched for Mischa in the crowded room, spotting her arguing quietly with her husband. He felt another wave of protective anger wash over him. He turned quickly toward Will and smiled at him.

“Perhaps you should take a few hours off from the phones,” he said. “Go and visit Uncle Robert after dinner. You can take Mischa with you.”

Will looked like he wanted to argue, but Hannibal was already moving toward Mischa and Mason. Sighing, Will sank down into an empty seat at the table. He didn’t particularly want to go back to the hospital, especially not when he could be doing something to help, but he knew that there was no point in arguing with Hannibal. At least he would have Mischa’s company.

* * *

The hospital was mostly empty by the time Will and Mischa arrived there. They walked arm-in-arm down the dark hall to their uncle’s room. Will’s brows furrowed when he realized that there were no guards at Robert’s door.

“Stay here,” he told Mischa quietly. “I’ll be a second.”

Mischa frowned and held on to his arm. “Will, we should get a nurse. If something is wrong –“

“I can handle it,” he assured her. “I’m just going to peek inside and check to see if he has anyone with him, that’s all.”

Mischa sighed, but did as he asked and moved to the other side of the door just in case. The hairs on Will’s arms and neck were standing up and he took a deep breath as he pushed the door open. His uncle lay there on the bed, as pale as he had been that morning. He seemed more alive, somehow, and that was at least an improvement.

There was no one in the room though and Will slipped out, closing the door and frowning.

“Go find the nurses’ station,” he told her. “Find out what happened to the guards; Uncle Robert’s fine, but there should be men here. I’m going to call Hannibal.”

Mischa nodded and hurried down the hall. Will made sure that she made it down to the end alright before going back into the hospital room. Robert was stirring slightly and he glanced over at him. His eyes were still closed. Will figured he was having a dream or something and picked up the phone. His nerves were tingling as he asked to be patched through to the house in Long Beach.

_“Hello?”_

Some of the tension drifted away when he heard Hannibal’s voice and he turned away from his uncle’s prone form.

“It’s me, I’m at the hospital. There are no guards at Uncle Robert’s door. None of Gideon’s men or anything.”

There was a long pause and then Hannibal spoke, his voice careful and controlled. _“Alright Will, don’t panic. I’ll send men over there right now and find out what happened. You and Mischa stay with him until we get there.”_

Will wanted to scream because doing nothing was not what he wanted Hannibal to tell him at the moment.

“Fine,” he said. His voice might’ve been a bit rougher than he had meant for it to be, but that didn’t matter. He slammed the phone back down and started looking around the room, his mind racing. If this was Chilton then he was going to take another shot at killing Robert and Will wasn’t about to let that happen.

His eyes scanned the tubes and wires that were hooked up to the old man. He looked so fragile and sick just laying there; Will had never thought his uncle could look so breakable in his entire life. Robert was a man who exuded strength and confidence.

He jumped when the door opened and Mischa, accompanied by a young nurse, entered.

“You can’t be in here,” the nurse said immediately. “It’s past visiting hours and your uncle needs to rest.”

“What happened to the guards who were watching his room?” Will demanded, ignoring the woman as she tried to shoe them out.

The nurse frowned, “The police men were called away,” she said. “They had to leave.”

Will frowned and moved to stand in the nurse’s path as she started to adjust a small tube hooked into his uncle’s hand. “And the other men?”

She frowned and crossed her arms. “More officers came and arrested them,” she said. Her eyes were bright, “One of them had a gun.”

Something cold slipped into Will’s blood and he looked over at Mischa, who was staring at him with wide, terrified eyes. “He had a permit for it, I’m sure,” he said. “Why were they arrested?”

The nurse shrugged, “I couldn’t say,” she said. “Best thing for your uncle anyway; he needs to rest and having so many people in and out all the time –“

“How long?”

She blinked, frowning. “I’m sorry?”

“How long have they been gone?”

“About fifteen minutes,” she said. “Not very long. Now, it’s after visiting hours, so –“

Will turned away from her and frowned, shaking his head. Mischa moved over to his side, but kept her gaze on Robert. “What did Hannibal say?” she whispered anxiously. “Is he sending more men over?”

Will nodded, “But it’ll take at least half an hour to get here from Long Beach. We’ve got to do something now, we got to –“ his eyes lit on the IV in his uncle and then down to the wheels on the bed.

“Can you help me unhook these and move my uncle?” he turned back the nurse urgently. “We need to get him out of this room quickly.”

“I most certainly cannot,” she said stiffly. “You’re uncle is in a very delicate condition; moving him would –“

Will grabbed her by the shoulders and looked in her eyes. He didn’t do it often, but he had to do it now. He had to make her listen and understand. He saw fear and confusion and righteous anger in her eyes and he was reminded for a moment of Alana.

“My uncle is a very powerful man,” he said. “You read the papers right? You know what they say about him? You know what happened to get him in the hospital?”

Slowly, the woman nodded and Will pressed his lips together.

“Good. Men are coming here tonight to kill him. Do you understand? They’re going to kill him. I can’t let that happen so I need you to help me get him to another room. Please.”

The nurse relaxed slowly and closed her eyes. “Alright,” she said. Will let go of her shoulders and she moved to the side of Robert’s bed. “You don’t have to unhook anything. The stand has wheels on it, see?” She pointed to the IV stand and it’s small wheels. Will nodded.

“Mischa, push the stand. I’ll help the nurse with the bed. We need to hurry.”

It took several minutes to move the bed to another, empty room a few halls over, but Will felt more at ease once it was finished. He moved to the window and glanced outside. Traffic was thin with the cold weather and the icy roads. He breathed in and out slowly to calm himself down more before turning to Mischa and the nurse.

“You two stay with him,” he said. His eyes met Mischa’s for half a second. “If anything happens call Hannibal.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to wait outside,” he said. “If Hannibal’s men show up I can tell them where Uncle Robert is.”

“What if –“

“If Chilton’s men get here first hopefully I’ll be enough to stop them from coming in. If they think he’s still guarded they won’t take the risk.”

Mischa nodded and moved quickly to kiss him on the cheek. “Be careful, Will. Hannibal will be furious if you do something reckless. …So will I.”

He smiled and hugged her. “I’ll be okay. You two just sit tight. I’ll come up with Hannibal’s people when they get here.”

He closed the door carefully behind him and let his knees wobble for a moment. His insides felt like jelly, but at least he had done something. He felt a little bit less useless as he headed out for the hospital entrance, wrapping his coat tightly around him to defend against the freezing cold. At least he wasn’t answering any damn phones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't want to split the hospital scene in two, but then I thought that the second half works better with the next part and so I cut it in half. Hope you guys don't mind.
> 
> As always, all mistakes are my own. Comments and critques are welcome!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wasn't that premier amazing guys? Who's excited for tonight's episode!?
> 
> As always, thanks for the comments, kudos and bookmarks!

Will stood outside at the hospital gates for less than five minutes when he spotted another figure approaching. It was an unfamiliar man – tall and lanky with a dark coat wrapped around his frame and a hat pulled down to hide his eyes. Nervously, Will shifted on his feet and wished he had a gun. Not to shoot the man, of course, but to scare him.

He bit his lip as the man got closer and balled his gloved fists tight in his pockets. Squaring his shoulders, Will raised himself up to his full height and looked dead ahead, pretending that he hadn’t noticed the man at first.

“Will Graham?” the voice was tentative and foreign, the traces of an Italian accent making Will turn his head instinctively. The stranger was younger than Will by at least two years and he had wide, anxious brown eyes. “You are Robert Lecter’s nephew?”

Will nodded and studied the man carefully. He didn’t seem dangerous, just nervous and confused. His eyes darted to the hospital and he frowned.

“Is he awake? I came to pay my respects, to thank him. Your uncle helped me to stay in this country so that I could be married and I –“

“It’s passed visiting hours,” Will bit the words out, though he visibly relaxed at the man’s words. “And he’s not conscious anyway. I can tell him you stopped by.”

The man smiled, “I would rather tell him in person,” he said. “I owe him very much.”

“Another time then,” Will told him, turning his attention back to the street. The man nodded and started to turn away, then he hesitated and looked back at Will for a moment.

“Is everything okay? With your uncle? I only ask because it seems you should be inside with him, where it’s warm and not standing in the cold by yourself.”

Will blinked and glanced back at the young man. “You know how he got in here, right?”

Cautiously, he nodded. “Yes. It was horrible. When I read about it in the papers, I knew I must come and show my respect and gratitude for your uncle and his kindness.”

Will almost smiled, amazed a bit at the way so many people were in awe of his uncle in spite of the fact that he was a murderer and that everything the papers printed about him was true. “I think those people are going to try something again tonight. I’m hoping to keep them away from my uncle.”

Eyes widening, the man stepped closer to Will and resolutely turned his gaze toward the street. “Then I will stand with you.”

Blinking, Will shook his head. “No, no. It’s dangerous. I don’t want you to get hurt –“

“I owe your uncle very much,” the man said sternly. “If I can help him in any way, I will.”

Will started to argue, but saw the futility of it. He sighed and smiled faintly at the man. “What’s your name?”

“Enzo,” he replied, slipping his hand into his pocket and producing a cigarette and lighter. He offered one to Will, but Will shook his head and kept his attention on the street. It was quiet for several more minutes and Will thought that perhaps he had overreacted. Hannibal’s men would be there shortly and everything would be alright.

That was when the large black car came rolling down the street. It was crawling at a slow pace, either due to the ice or because they were watching the hospital, Will couldn’t be sure. He nudged Enzo gently and pulled his own hat down to cover his face. Enzo watched him and did the same, copying Will when he slipped his hand into his coat like he had a weapon hidden there.

Will caught sight of a vaguely familiar face peering from out of the back window of the car, but then the vehicle abruptly sped up and was gone.

The two men sighed in relief and Enzo lit another cigarette, taking a long drag off of it to quell the shaking in his hands. Will glanced down at his own hands and was surprised to find them steady. He frowned and looked back out at the street.

Less than five minutes after the black car had passed, police cars pulled up to the curb and several uniformed officers spilled out. For a moment, Will felt a smile on his face. Hannibal must have called Robert’s contact within the NYPD and gotten more officers sent over to guard the room.

The smile faded when a large police captain snarled at him with anger in his eyes. “I thought I got rid of all you punks already! What are you still doing here?”

Will tipped his hat back and frowned up at the taller man. He cocked his head to the side and didn’t move when the captain tried to shove him out of the way. “What happened to the officers who were guarding my uncle’s room?” he asked.

The captain blinked and spluttered, glaring from him to Enzo. “They had to be pulled off. Didn’t need to be wasting their time protecting that lowlife thug anyway. Now I already arrested your other friends, so get the hell out of here before I arrest you, too.”

Enzo, beside Will, made a quiet noise, but didn’t run. Will was impressed at his dedication.

“Not until you put more guards back at my uncle’s door. He’s in danger and he deserves protection –“

“Goddamn, I said get out of here!”

Will squared his jaw and stared at the captain’s chin resolutely, not moving an inch. Another officer crept forward and quietly whispered in the captain’s ear, “Captain, that’s the kid Lecter adopted. He’s harmless. He’s a war hero.”

That only seemed to make the captain angrier and he pushed the officer away. “I don’t care what fucking wars he fought in, these criminals are all the same. I gave you two chances, Kid, you’re not getting another.”

Will still didn’t move and the captain growled low in his throat before motioning to his men. “Hold him,” he snapped.

Before Will had realized what was happening, two sets of strong arms wrapped around his biceps. He didn’t bother fighting. He continued staring resolutely at the police captain. He could feel the anger and the hate rolling off of him and it made Will feel a little bit light headed, but he used that to fuel his own anger and braced himself when he saw the punch coming.

One solid hit landed against his stomach and he doubled over, coughing. Another punch caught him in the jaw and everything started ringing. He heard something crack and tasted blood, but then he was let go and he nearly collapsed on the group. Enzo’s hands caught him and held him up, but Will was barely aware of any of that.

His vision felt blurry and all he could feel was the pain. Sharp and throbbing, increasing with each breath and every pulse of his heart. He heard car engines and angry voices – familiar voice. Tobias Budge and Abel Gideon, he thought. He wasn’t sure where they had come from or why they were there, but the next thing he knew, the police were gone and Tobias was thanking Enzo before carefully supporting Will’s weight himself.

“You’re alright, Will,” Tobias kept telling him. “Don’t worry; we’ll get you inside and get you fixed up.”

Will didn’t know why that mattered. All he could think about was his uncle and Hannibal and how bad this meant that things were going for them in their fight against Chilton. He tried to keep his mind awake and able to reason, tried to tell Tobias that they needed to get men to Robert’s room immediately, but words didn’t come out. Blood dribbled down his chin and he felt something cracking inside of his mouth, making the pain more intense than it had any right to be.

He stumbled along beside Tobias, trying to talk and clutching at his jacket. The last thing Will heard before he lost consciousness was Tobias telling Enzo that “Mr. Lecter will hear about this and we’ll make sure that you’re rewarded for your assistance.” And then everything went black.

* * *

When Will woke he was in a hospital bed. The room was dark and it took him a moment to remember what exactly had happened. The entire left side of his face felt numb and thick and he reached up to touch it, grimacing slightly when he realized how swollen it felt.

“You’re awake,” Hannibal’s familiar voice came from somewhere at his side. Will had to take a second to orient himself before he spotted Hannibal sitting beside his bed.

“’annibal?” Will slurred his name out and made a face. His tongue was heavy and it hurt to move his mouth too much. He forced himself to sit up and touched his jaw again, gingerly. “What happened?” He felt the stitches then and if he concentrated he could feel where a couple of teeth were missing as well.

“You were assaulted,” Hannibal informed him. There was a hard edge to his voice that Will had only heard in relation to their uncle’s assassination attempt. He wasn’t sure how he felt hearing it in regards to him being attacked. “A police captain, McCluskey, broke your jaw last night, outside of the hospital. Tobias found you and brought in to be taken care of.”

Will stared at Hannibal for a moment. “And Uncle Robert?”

“Uncle Robert is fine,” Hannibal assured him. “We have already replaced the men that were arrested and Aunt Theresa and Mischa are with him now. He is doing much better…” He hesitated before leaning forward and giving Will a serious look. “About last night, Will…”

“You’re upset,”

Hannibal smiled slightly, “I am that,” he nodded. “You made a reckless choice last night, Will. It could have ended far worse than it had. However, you did very likely save Uncle Robert’s life, and it was very quick thinking. I am impressed.”

Will would’ve snorted if he weren’t certain that it would cause him more pain than it was worth. “Well, at least that’s something.”

Hannibal sighed and stood, “We haven’t called your fiancée,” he said. “I wasn’t sure if he wanted her to know about this or not.”

Will shook his head quickly, “No. No, she’d just worry for no reason. I’m fine; it’s just a broken jaw. Hurts a lot less than being shot.”

“I suspect,” Hannibal said, resting his hand on the bedrail, “that that has more to do with your pain medication. The doctor said that you would feel very numb for a while.”

Will nodded. “Feel like I’ve got two wads of cotton in my mouth…” he reached up and wiped at his busted lip. “And I’m drooling everywhere.”

“It will pass,” Hannibal said gently. He hesitated, just for a second, before leaning down and kissing the top of Will’s head. “You’ll heal.”

He straightened up and gathered his coat from the back of the chair. Will wanted to tell him to stay, but he knew that Hannibal had important things to take care of. With another attempt on their uncle’s life, he was certainly dealing with trying to keep Robert safe, while trying to decide what to do about Chilton and his men.

“There’s no way to avoid a war is there?” he asked quietly.

Hannibal paused and pressed his lips together. “I am not sure,” he said. “Things are not looking very positive at the moment.” He stopped at the door and turned back to Will. “I’ll go speak with your doctor about releasing you. I’m meeting with Tobias tonight and I thought you might want to be there.”

There was a glint in his eyes, not the dark and cold look that had been there earlier, but something different. Something more devious and excited. Will wasn’t sure if it frightened him more than the coldness or not.

He nodded eagerly. “Yeah. I want to be there.”

Hannibal smiled. “Good. I will be back shortly. Rest for now, Will.”

He left and Will fell back against the uncomfortable bed. Hannibal expected him to rest? How was he supposed to rest when he felt like shit and everything seemed to keep slipping away into some dangerously twisted place. Assassinations and assaults and threats and narcotics… It was all hitting him faster and harder than he had expected and he wanted nothing more than to be back at school, holding Alana and pretending that this part of his life didn’t exist.

Of course, he also wanted nothing more than to see the men responsible for his uncle’s injuries dead. Maybe he wasn’t as different from his family as he had always assumed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly less racist scene with Captain McCluskey. I was actually not sure if I wanted to keep this scene in or not, but it's such a pivitol moment for Michael in the film and novel, so it had to remain in - plus it's important for establishing Chilton's Ace up his sleeve later on.
> 
> As always, all mistakes are my own. Comments and critiques are welcome!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this season might even be better than last season. I'm so excited for tonight's episode!

Tobias walked into Robert’s office at exactly eight o’clock. Hannibal was already seated behind the desk and Gideon and Will were already in place as well. Will looked out of place among them; he looked younger, somehow, and innocent. Hannibal hoped very much that that would change soon. The further Will decided to delve into their uncle’s life, the less inclined he would be to return to the waiting arms of Miss Bloom.

Tobias’s eyes swept over Will and his brows knitted in confusion for a moment, but he quickly returned his expression to one of careful neutrality. He took his seat across from Hannibal and took a breath before starting to speak.

“As far as we’ve been able to tell, Chilton’s man inside the NYPD is responsible for the arrests last night,” he said, his eyes sweeping back toward Will. “The police captain who hit Will,” he elaborated. “He called the cops off the room and then ordered arrests on all of Gideon’s men.”

He looked to Gideon and the man promptly leaned forward, “They were all released this afternoon with no charges. They couldn’t pin anything illegal on them so we don’t have to bother trying to get that cleared up. What worries me is this captain, McCluskey. Chilton’s using him as a body guard.

“Chilton’s still holed up at Bruno Tattaliga’s place, but we caught him leaving once this afternoon.”

“You didn’t take him out then?” Will leaned forward his eyes boring into Gideon’s with a surprising intensity. Hannibal had to suppress a smile at Will’s eagerness for blood. It was something he had never seen in him before and he decided that he enjoyed it quite a lot.

Gideon gave Will a disgruntled look and shook his head. “Too risky, Kid. We’re trying to avoid a war. If we start taking shots outside of Tattaliga’s home, we’re going to bring ‘em all down on our heads.” He turned back to Hannibal. “Plus, he’s using McCluskey as a bodyguard. Anyone who could get close enough to take him out would have to deal with McCluskey. He’d be able to finger who did the killing in a second.”

Hannibal frowned. He had known, of course, that Chilton would be smart enough to keep himself protected, but they could not risk letting him live to take another shot at Robert. The Lecter’s position as the most powerful family in New York was already in question with the assassination attempt; they didn’t need Chilton to succeed and cause them further damage.

Will leaned forward in his seat, his blue eyes feverishly bright and his swollen jaw puffing slightly from the exertion of speaking.

“So we kill McCluskey too,” he said.

Hannibal sat up straighter in his seat, turning to stare at Will with curious eyes. Tobias was shaking his head already, giving Will an incredulous look.

“Are you crazy? We can’t gun down a New York policeman! They’ll turn their heads when we kill other Mafia guys, figure that’s our business, but we start shooting cops and we’ll bring down the entire NYPD on our heads. All your uncle’s political contacts won’t mean shit then and not even his guys in the department will back us up.

“You gotta think with your head here, Will. Just because the guy slapped you around –“

“This isn’t about that,” Will snapped, glaring openly at Tobias. “It only makes sense. We have to get rid of Chilton to be able to start any kind of negotiations with the other families. Chilton has to go. And if he’s trying to use McCluskey as a shield, we have to take him out too.”

“I don’t think you understand,” Abel said. “That isn’t how this kind of stuff works. We take out a New York police captain and we’ll bring the heat down on _all_ of us. Not just the Lecter Family, but the other four Families too. They’ll start cracking down on everyone’s operations. The gambling, the prostitution, everything. The others will side with the Tattaligas for starting this whole mess. It’ll mean war.”

Will didn’t seem too bothered by their arguments and Hannibal sat back, a faint smile starting to play on his lips as he listened to Will lay out the logic of his plan.

“We’re already facing a war from the Tattaligas anyway,” he said. “The other Families are probably going to side with them anyway to get it over with as quickly as possible. They’re going to try to make us knuckle under. If we take out Chilton and McCluskey, that’s just one more thing and it’ll send a message to them that we’re not going to bow out over this Chilton business.”

“And what about the police?” Hannibal finally spoke. “We will still have to deal with them if we try to kill McCluskey.”

Will frowned and gave him a confused look, his head tilting to the side for a moment. “He’s a police captain, but he’s a dirty cop too. You think they’ll be so eager to avenge a dirty cop? One who was in with the Mafia, on the take with killers and mixed up in this whole drugs business? We’ve got people with the papers. We can start putting that spin on it as soon as it’s done. It would take some of the heat off of us.”

Hannibal nodded slowly, still giving Will that same curious look with the faint smile on his face. His eyes flicked to Tobias. “It is a sound plan, isn’t it?”

“It _could_ work,” Tobias frowned, hesitated. “But it isn’t going to be easy. Chilton’s keeping himself hidden, even with McCluskey at his side. We’re going to have a hard time getting to him.”

Hannibal wasn’t worried about that. “Chilton will come to us. He’ll call before tomorrow afternoon, I’m sure. After last night he is going to realize that getting to Uncle Robert isn’t going to be as simple as he had hoped. He’ll try to negotiate again and he’ll want to set up a meeting.”

“You can’t go!” Tobias jumped in quickly. “We aren’t going to risk you showing your face and getting killed.”

“I seriously doubt Chilton will ask for me. He’ll want a mediator. He knows we aren’t quite that stupid. If he’s intelligent, he’ll ask for someone outside of the family, an impartial part, if you will.” His eyes bore into Will’s and Will jolted when he realized where Hannibal was going with that thought.

“He’ll ask for me,” he realized, his voice a whisper as he stared at Hannibal.

“No,” Gideon leaned forward. “Are you kidding, Hannibal? Will? He’s a kid. He doesn’t know what he’s doing; we can’t send him in there to get himself killed.”

“They won’t kill him,” Hannibal’s voice was hard when he turned to face Gideon. “As far as they know, Will is not a part of the Family business. He’s a civilian. They’ll feel safe with him. They’ll let their guard down. He won’t be in any danger and they won’t realize that they are.”

Will shifted in his seat, looking somewhat uncomfortable.

“You think that’s a good idea, Hannibal?” Tobias asked. “He’s never done anything like this. Letting him answer phones and sit in on this is one thing, but –“

“I have every faith in Will,” Hannibal said, looking back at the younger man. “He seemed eager enough to kill Captain McCluskey earlier. I believe we should let him try.” He smirked a bit at Will and barely stopped himself from laughing when Will glared back, jumping from his seat angrily.

His face was flushed with anger and he jabbed a finger at Hannibal. “I can tell when you’re mocking me,” he snapped. “I told you before I’m not a fucking child and this doesn’t have anything to do with my broken jaw. You wanted a way to take care of Chilton and McCluskey and that’s the only way that makes any sense. This isn’t about anything personal.”

Gideon and Tobias sat in stunned silence. They had never seen anyone yell at Hannibal like that before, and they had certainly never seen _Will Graham_ fly off on someone like that before. Hannibal merely put a hand on Will’s shoulder and smiled at him.

“I know, Will,” he said softly. “I think your plan may have the most merit of any we might have come up with. I wasn’t mocking you.”

Will’s eyes were still narrowed and he pushed Hannibal’s hand away, but he at least didn’t look quite as irritated as he had before. Hannibal watched him for a moment before turning back to Tobias and Gideon.

“I want you to keep your men on Chilton,” he said. “He may be smart, but he isn’t infallible. Perhaps he will show himself before he decides to ask for a meeting.” He looked to Tobias, “Once Chilton does call we will discuss the finer details of our plans. If Will does do this, he will suffer a lot of inquiry from the police. We’ll have to get him out of the country for a while to keep him protected until everything calms down.”

He looked to Will again, “That is alright, isn’t it?” Will nodded mutely and Hannibal turned back to Tobias. He hated that Will would have to leave, but at least he would also be away from Alana Bloom. “We’ll wait until Chilton calls, but I want you to start arranging for Will’s departure. Let me know when you’ve gotten everything settled.”

Tobias and Gideon both nodded curtly and left the room. Hannibal watched them and smiled for a moment when he felt Will come to stand beside him. Will’s angry posture had not changed since he had leapt from his chair and he still wore an annoyed expression his face, though the swollen jaw did cut the fire of it in half.

“You _were_ mocking me,” he said stiffly.

“Was I?” Hannibal smiled at him and sat back down, deftly pulling Will with him and holding him in his lap. “I don’t believe I was.”

Will squirmed and tried to break his hold, but Hannibal was stronger than he was and kept him in place.

“Hannibal,” he pushed against him. “Stop! What if someone walks in and sees!?”

He didn’t respond, instead shifting Will on his lap so that his back was against his chest. He buried his face in Will’s hair and inhaled sharply, taking in the warm, familiar scent of the other man. His groin stirred, but he ignored it.

“Even if I had been mocking you,” Hannibal said finally, “that is no excuse to scream at me in front of my men.”

Will froze and stopped trying to break free. Hannibal could hear the half-fearful, half-angry look on Will’s face. “They’re Uncle Robert’s men.”

“And as I am acting in his stead, that makes them mine by default.”

Will took a shaky breath and leaned into Hannibal’s chest. Hannibal sighed, reveling for a moment in the familiar feeling of Will’s body against his. Neither of them said anything for a moment and Hannibal listened as Will’s breathing became steady and softer. He thought he’d fallen asleep until he shifted again and tried to get up.

“Let me up,” Will said softly. “Hannibal, please. Stop making this so hard for me. I know you’re upset, but I told you –“

Hannibal huffed and pushed Will off, watching with dispassionate eyes as the younger man stumbled and nearly fell to the floor. He righted himself and turned back to face him with a hurt expression on his face. He started to say something, but Hannibal cut him off.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I promised I would let this go and I haven’t been very good at keeping that promise.”

He made to leave, but Will caught him by the arm. “It’s not you, Hannibal,” he insisted. “I don’t want you to think I don’t care about you. But – but what we did was wrong. We shouldn’t have – it wasn’t – I’m trying so hard to do what’s right. And – And Alana’s – I love her, Hannibal, and I love you, but with Alana…” he trailed off and shook his head.

Hannibal pressed his lips tightly together. He wanted to tell Will to never say Alana’s name in his presence, but he knew that would not likely end very well. “What makes your love for her right, but your love for me so wrong, Will?”

Will gave him an exasperated look and raked his fingers through his hair agitatedly. “Because she’s a woman!” he said. “Men aren’t supposed to – to do what we did together, Hannibal, it’s not right.”

Hannibal frowned and moved closer. Will didn’t back away, so he took another step forward, putting himself directly in Will’s personal space. “Did it feel wrong?” he whispered.

Will stared at the floor and shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “But that doesn’t make it right. It doesn’t change anything.”

Hannibal reached up and tilted Will’s head toward him, staring at him for a moment. Will’s eyes darted away from his, but Hannibal was used to that. He kissed him softly, chastely, on the lips and Will rocked toward him, his hands flailing around Hannibal’s waist desperately.

He jerked away before Hannibal could deepen the kiss and wrapped his arms around his midsection. He shook his head vigorously. “No, Hannibal. Okay, I said no. It’s not going to happen. I’m sorry.”

He brushed past him quickly, his whole body taut. Hannibal watched him go with a frown on his face. How far was he going to have to push Will before he would realize that he belonged by his side and not with that woman he had so foolishly decided to marry?

* * *

True to Hannibal’s predictions, Chilton called the following morning and asked to set up a meeting. He promised that this would be a neutral meeting to air out their differences, and as such he wanted to speak to someone he felt would not pose any irrational threat to him. Hannibal had smiled wolfishly when Chilton asked that the meeting be between himself and Will Graham – with Chilton’s ever present body guard acting as protection, of course.

He hadn’t disclosed the location of the meeting, not that Hannibal had been surprised.

“I know you’re upset, Hannibal, but I’m the one in danger here. Your people are out for my blood. I don’t want to risk one of them getting a hold of this information and deciding to take me out. We’ll pick Will up outside your gates and take him to the meeting place from there. Bruno Tattaliga is going to send two of his men to act as insurance. If anything happens to Will, your men kill them. We won’t take off with your brother until Bruno’s men are in place.”

It had all sounded perfectly logical. Chilton was determined to make sure that he kept himself safe and undetected by anyone. He could likely sense the sharks that were circling for him. As soon as everything with Chilton had been arranged, Hannibal called Gideon and instructed him to find a gun for Will to use and put Tobias on finding out where the meeting would take place so that they could plant the weapon there ahead of time.

The meeting was taking place four days from then. That should give them enough time to find something out and make sure that the gun was planted safely. The only thing left was to do was wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, all mistakes are my own. Comments and critiques are welcome!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut this chapter! Kind of nervous about it - I haven't written smut in a little while.

The night before Will was to meet Chilton and McCluskey, Will’s nerves were on edge. He had killed people during the war, but this was going to be different. He hadn’t ever fired a gun on someone at such a close range and thinking about it now, he felt vaguely ill. After dinner he had retired to his bedroom where he immediately poured three fingers of Scotch into a glass. He followed it up with another three fingers and then sat on the bed, pressing his palms into his knees and trying to talk himself out of another glass.

It was ridiculous to be so nervous. He knew Chilton had to die, and McCluskey had to go with him. They were a threat to his uncle’s life and to his business. The last few days he hadn’t really registered what he was going to have to do – he had listened intently as Gideon explained to him exactly how he needed to do things, but he hadn’t really realized what he had been saying until right at that moment.

“Your uncle’s guy on the force got us the location – tomorrow night at eight o’clock, a little Italian place downtown. It’ll be quiet, not a lot of people there. It’s perfect for us, alright, Kid? You just do what I tell you and it’ll work out just fine.” Gideon had said. Will had nodded and listened as the older man ran down his list of instructions.

“They’ll frisk you before you get in the car, so you’ll be clean then. Just be calm. Keep your head, Will. Sit down with them at the table, order you food. Talk with them for a few minutes. I’ve got men to plant the gun in the toilet; it’s one of those old-fashioned models with the pull-flush. It’ll be taped behind the box.” He’d paused and Will had nodded. Gideon made a face and Will could pick up on the frustration rolling off on him; he wanted to know Will wasn’t going to screw this up because he wasn’t paying attention.

To appease him, Will said, “Behind the box in the old toilet. I got it, Abel.”

Gideon had pressed his lips together, narrowed eyes. “Get the gun – be careful not to touch anything but the trigger and the butt. We got it all taped up so you won’t leave prints. Once you get the gun, you get out of the bathroom and you start shooting. Don’t sit back down, don’t hesitate. Two shots, right to head. We don’t want any mistakes alright? Don’t give them a chance to notice something’s up.

“When they’re dead, get the hell out of the restaurant. Don’t run, walk fast, and don’t just throw the gun down. You’ve got to keep your head in there. Start walking; keep your head down and the hat pulled over your face. Lower your arm slow and let the gun slip out. Anyone inside won’t notice; they’ll think you’ve still got the gun. Hannibal will have a car waiting for you; someone you know will be driver. They’ll flash the headlights when they see you. Got all that?”

And he _had_ gotten it. Everything was still there and he understood on an intellectual level what was being asked of him, but until now he hadn’t thought about what that would mean in the real world. He was going to shoot two people dead. He was going to murder them in a restaurant where there would be other people – innocent people, no less.

He would have to calm and cold and quick and he wasn’t sure that he was any of those things. Hannibal was. Will had no doubt that Hannibal would be able to pull this double murder off, but he didn’t know if he really had it in him. Of course he could do it, but could he handle what taking those lives would do to him? Could he look Alana in the eye after this? His Aunt? Mischa? How could he ever claim to be better than his family if he did this?

His fingers twisted at the fabric of his trousers and he wished he had a way of knowing how everything was going to work out. He wished he could just take one peak at the future and see that he would be alright and everything would be fine. He took slow breaths and lost the argument against more Scotch, pouring what was left of the bottle into his glass.

He could do this. It would be fine. He would kill them, help his uncle and Hannibal with the war they would soon have on their hands. After a year, maybe two, he could come home. Things would go back to normal. He would marry Alana and Uncle Robert would be healed by then and back in charge of the family business. Everything would be fine. He just had to do this one thing and everything would work out the way it was supposed to.

The knock on his door nearly sent the glass skittering out of his hands. He sat it down and hurried to open it, not surprised to see Hannibal standing on the other side. He almost shut the door in his face, but stopped himself and let him in.

“I came to see you before tomorrow,” Hannibal said. “I won’t be able to see you tomorrow before you leave. It may be a while before I get the chance to speak with you again.” His eyes lit on the glass and the empty bottle of Scotch and he tutted at him.

“You shouldn’t be drinking,”

“Calms my nerves,” Will muttered, taking a harsh gulp. He’d kill for another bottle at that point; anything to drown out the twist in his gut.

“If you’re feeling anxious about tomorrow night –“

“I’m fine,” Will cut him off, frowning. “I can do this, okay? I can.”

“I did not say that I believe otherwise,” Hannibal said softly. “But if you are having second thoughts, you do not have to go through with this. I can easily send someone else to do the job.”

“Chilton asked for me,” Will said. “He won’t be happy about you trying to pawn the job onto someone else, and neither will I. I can handle this, Hannibal. I’ll be fine.”

Hannibal merely nodded and moved toward him, taking the half-full glass of Scotch from him with nimble fingers. Will started to protest, but Hannibal ignored him and shook his head. “You need to have a clear head tomorrow, Will. Alcohol will only make the situation more difficult for you.”

Huffing, Will crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Hannibal. He could feel the lightness from the alcohol buzzing through his body, but it wasn’t quite enough to drown out the nervous tension. Or maybe it was just plain _tension_. He felt like he had been wound up tight and left in a knot and he didn’t know how to untangle himself.

“Was that all you wanted?” he demanded. He caught himself staring at Hannibal – his hands, his fingers, his arms, his shoulders, his neck, his lips – and jerked his eyes to the floor, flushing.

Hannibal didn’t acknowledge his stare, simply shaking his head. “Not entirely. I came to speak to you. I’ve arranged for your departure. Once you are picked up, you will be taken to a boat – I will leave your tickets and papers with the driver. We’re going to get you into Europe as quickly as possible. Some of Uncle Robert’s family friends will be waiting to take you to France from England. They’re prepared to keep you hidden for an extended period of time while we sort things out here and work to get the heat off of you.” Hannibal hesitated for a moment and Will chanced looking up at him again, staring at his mouth and idly remembering what his lips felt life. Suddenly he really regretted drinking all of that Scotch.

“You’ll be gone for at least a year, perhaps as long as three years, Will. Are you sure that you want to do this?”

It suddenly hit Will, when Hannibal said it, that he would not see him for a very long time. The last time they had been separated for such a long time, Will had joined the marines and fought in a war. He could still remember the bitter emptiness he had felt those first weeks away from his family – especially Hannibal. He could remember the nights he had spent awake, thinking of their home and of the nights they’d spent together in Hannibal’s bed and suddenly he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Hannibal without feeling him one more time.

It was probably the alcohol coursing through his blood. It was probably a bad idea and whatever part of Will’s mind was sober enough to care knew that he would regret what he was about to do, but the rest of him was desperate to feel him hands and lips and tongue and Hannibal’s mouth looked so soft and familiar and warm. Will found himself stumbling into his arms before he had made the decision to move.

Hannibal stood still for a moment, eyes wide when Will’s lips collided roughly with his own. He didn’t move until Will started tugging at his jacket, bunching the expensive fabric in clumsy fingers and yanking harshly. Calmly, Hannibal pulled away and took Will’s wrists into his own. Will blinked up at him with dazed, foggy eyes and Hannibal smiled.

He locked the door before going any further and Will just watched him, his eyes confused and glazed with lust and alcohol. Before Will knew what was happening, Hannibal had pushed them onto the bed and was already removing his clothes, the rumbled shirt going first, his trousers and underwear being pulled down to his ankles. Hannibal’s hands were everywhere, exploring the familiar and forgotten parts of his body. His skin felt like fire and he arched into the touch, remembering suddenly how much he had missed this.

Searing lips claimed his own and Will opened his mouth, letting Hannibal’s tongue explore as his drunken fingers fumbled with Hannibal’s shirt buttons. After a moment, he gave up and started yanking at his trousers, grinning sloppily when he heard the fabric tear. Hannibal wouldn’t appreciate that, but Will didn’t care as he plunged his hand inside and found Hannibal semi-erect and delightfully hot.

Grunting, Hannibal pulled away as Will’s fingers wrapped around him and started to move. For a moment, he lost sight of what he had been doing and then he helped Will, rolling over and pulling his pants down, correcting the awkward angle and tugging Will on top of him, finding Will’s pulsing member hot and leaking between his fingers.

Will’s chest heaved and his breathing sped up. He threw his head back and closed his eyes, getting lost in the feelings that he hadn’t felt in so long. At least not like this anyway. He leant down and kissed Hannibal again, the familiar taste of his lips making him moan and his hand fell away from Hannibal’s erection, reaching up to grasp his shoulders as he worked his way down his body, trailing kisses along his chest and stomach until he reached his groin.

Hannibal had stopped moving beneath him and Will stared at him for a moment. He hadn’t done this in such a long time and he felt nervousness flare up inside of his gut, but he shoved it down, leaning forward tentatively and slowly taking him into his mouth. Hannibal stayed still the entire time, except to reach up and grasp his sweaty curls, and Will smiled around his pulsing erection.

It was hot and hard in his mouth and his tongue swept over it, reveling in the familiar taste and sensations. He moved sloppily and quickly and he hummed at the choked, muffled groans Hannibal was emitting. He had forgotten how good it felt to make him make those sounds. His own member was still hard, but it wasn’t enough. He needed more.

Sitting up and letting Hannibal’s erection slip from his lips, he crawled forward again. It took more maneuvering than Will had done in a while, but Hannibal met his eyes for a second and understood.

“I need you in me,” Will whispered. “Please. Just – just one more time.”

Hannibal’s smile was predatory, and it should have made Will want to stop, but it made him want it even more. With a bruising grip, Hannibal pulled Will’s hips forward and up, helping to guide himself into his body. Will hissed at the flash of pain – too big, too much, too fast – and then the head of his erection was inside and Will started to push himself down until he rested on Hannibal’s lap, straddling him.

It felt so full and so familiar and so wonderful and he closed his eyes again, taking in his own lust and Hannibal’s as well. He moved slowly at first, pushing himself up and down with Hannibal’s fingers resting lightly on his hipbones. But then he moved faster and felt Hannibal sliding almost all the way out before he pulled himself quickly back down and suddenly there were hands on his member, stroking and toying with him and he couldn’t breathe. He felt a rush in his stomach and everything was so overwhelming and so wonderful and his pace stuttered. He tried to keep up, but everything was erratic and moving too quickly and Hannibal squeezed just enough and he felt the world fall around him.

He jammed a fist into his mouth to keep from crying out and his head fell back and then forward as he rode out his orgasm, trying desperately to maintain his pace as he pulled up and down on Hannibal. Hannibal suddenly convulsed beneath and he could feel him coming inside of him. Will slowed to a near stop and Hannibal rolled them over, pumping in and out spastically until he collapsed and pulled out of him.

Both breathing heavily, Will moved and pressed himself against Hannibal, his eyes closed. Hannibal smiled faintly and tangled his hand into Will’s curls pulling him into a soft kiss. They lay there in their post-coital bliss for several minutes before Hannibal gently moved away and stood, looking at the mess with a faint smile.

Will stared at his chest and sat up slowly, feeling wonderfully de-stressed and untangled. “I’ll clean it up. You go. Take a shower.”

Hannibal nodded and gathered his clothing quickly, making a face at the torn trousers. Will watched him getting ready to leave and bit his lip. He felt amazing, but he was already coming down from the high and he couldn’t believe he had let that happen.

“H-Hannibal?”

Hannibal turned toward him sharply, clearly hearing the regret in his tone.

“I meant it,” Will said. “This… this was the last time.”

Frowning, Hannibal nodded curtly. Will could feel the anger that spiked up within him, but it was gone quickly. Hannibal departed quietly, only sparing one glance back at him before he shut the door.

“Good night, William.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, all mistakes are my own. Comments and crituques are welcome!
> 
> (Also - I will not be updating next Friday. I'll be gone for spring break and won't be able to post.)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back! My usual weekly updates should continue as usual now. Sorry for the lack of update last week, but I was spending time with my cousin and not at home so writing was kind of impossible... Still. 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy the chapter! Things are getting interesting now!

The following morning was a blur. Tobias woke him well before the sun was up and took him to meet Gideon for one more briefing—more of the same information he had been hearing for the past few days. Gideon was intent on making sure that Will knew exactly what he was in for; he didn’t want any deviations to cause them trouble later on down the road.

“This isn’t like killing someone in the war, Kid,” Gideon had said to him. Will really wished that he would stop calling him Kid. He was a grown man after all. “You can shoot from a mile away; you’re going to have to get right up close and person with ‘em and watch the life leave their eyes. Are you sure you can do that?”

Will had nodded, ignoring the way his stomach twisted at Gideon’s words. “We didn’t always have the advantage of distance during the war either,” he said.

Continuing to eye him skeptically, Gideon had produced the gun and held it carefully before passing it to him. “I want you to get used to handling it before I send the guys over to plant it this afternoon. Every gun’s different. I’ve got a room in the back you can practice in; the sound won’t bother anybody out here.”

Will scrunched his eyebrows and asked, “Can’t you make it quieter?”

Gideon had shaken his head. “We want to leave it loud. It’ll discourage any outsiders from coming to investigate.”

“And get the police there faster,” Will said.

“That’s why you’ve got to move fast and get out of there as soon as you’ve done the job. Hannibal told you where you’ll be going yet?”

Will had stiffened and eyed Gideon skeptically. “Not anything specific. I think he wants to keep it quiet as long as he can. He doesn’t want anyone following me.”

Gideon didn’t seem bothered by that and simply nodded before leading Will into the small room at the back of his little house. Will had stayed there until nearly noon, practicing with the gun until Gideon was certain that he wouldn’t have any trouble in the restaurant.

By the time he returned home, Theresa and Mischa had already left to visit Robert in the hospital. He was showing signs of waking soon and they wanted to be there for him when he did. Hannibal was nowhere in sight, but Will already knew that he had other business to attend to for the day. He dreaded to think of exactly what ‘business’ Hannibal was taking care of. Images of gruesome murder flashed through his mind, but he knew that was his imagination. His uncle’s business was not all about murder and death, after all. Times of war and bloodshed were rare—especially after the last brutal war had nearly destroyed all of the Families. No one wanted to repeat that.

Even without Hannibal there, the house was strangely loud—Gideon’s men coming in and out, friends of his uncle’s dropping by occasionally, and phone calls from several of Robert’s political associates, wishing him a speedy recovery. Will found Tobias Budge in the kitchen, talking quietly on the phone. Behind him a handful of armed men ate lunch at his aunt’s clean table.

He nodded to the men in greeting and past Tobias without a word. He had never been on exactly friendly terms with Tobias, but for the last few days Tobias had been even less than cordial toward him. He was not happy with Hannibal deciding to send Will in to meet with Chilton. Tobias’s dismissal of Will’s usefulness only made Will that much more determined to see the job through. He would prove to Tobias and everyone who doubted him that he wasn’t some fairy weakling like they all seemed to think.

Moving outside, Will found Winston chained up by the pavilion and he smiled. The old dog was on his feet as soon as he spotted Will, his tongue lolling out as he happily barked his hello. Will knelt on the hard ground and ran his fingers through the dog’s coarse fur.

“Hey, Winston,” he said. “Guess you’ve been kicked out of the house to make room for everyone else, huh?”

Winston sniffed at his hands and neck curiously and Will sighed, hugging the dog. His aunt had always scolded him for doing that in his good clothes—Will had had a habit of ruining expressive clothing when he was a child. He never had quite gotten used to the wealth that the Lecters possessed.

Winton wriggled free and licked his face, pulling him out of his brief memory. Will scratched behind his ears and stood slowly, wishing he had thought to bring some treats out to feed him. He realized that this might be the last time he ever saw Winston. He was already extremely old for a dog and three years was a long time. For a moment, tears sprang to his eyes and Will wanted to bring the dog with him, no matter how impossible that would be.

“I’m gonna miss you, Winston,” he whispered, smiling sadly down at the dog—his first real friend. Winston whined and he forced himself to smile brighter, not wanting to upset him. “Don’t worry; Hannibal will take care of you. And Mischa will be here for a while since she and Mason are living at the mall for now. You’ll have good company.”

It was almost the same thing he had said when he had left for the war. Of course, then he had never imagined Mischa marrying and Hannibal taking over for their uncle, but things were not as different as they seemed. It made his heart squeeze a little tighter in his chest, but he wasn’t about to back down. He had a job to do and he was going to do it.

* * *

Will was nothing but nerves by the time the sun had set. He had steadily grown more and more anxious as the day wore on. He wanted to talk to Hannibal one last time, to hear his reassurance that it was all going to be okay. He wanted to call Alana and tell her that he loved her and to tell her goodbye. Tobias had told him that was out of the question though. Will would’ve given anything to be able to explain it to her himself, but he had settled for writing a letter—nothing specific, just letting her know that he hadn’t wanted to leave so abruptly and that it was something he had to do for him family. Tobias promised to give it to Hannibal to deliver. It was all Will could ask.

And now it was dusk and Will was waiting outside by the gates with Gideon, who had apparently been assigned as his body guard for the evening—at least until he stepped into Chilton’s car. He could feel Gideon’s gaze, watching him. Looking for any sign that he was going to crack under the pressure.

He straightened his spine and stared ahead at the road, refusing to show weakness even though his knees were wobbly. The flash of headlights was almost a relief. Things were finally starting to happen and once they did there was no going back.

The sleek back car pulled up to the curb and Gideon eyed it suspiciously. They had gotten word half an hour ago that Tattaliga’s man had been dropped off and was currently with Dolarhyde. As long as Chilton had Will, they would have Tattaliga’s man and if anything happened to Will, they could make sure to take it out on their insurance.

The door slid open and Will could see Chilton and McCluskey inside. His jaw tightened at the sight and a wave of pain shot through him. The bones were still mending and his face was still swollen and bruised from the broken jaw. Fire seared through his veins for a moment, but he ignored it. Gideon stepped forward and narrowed his eyes as McCluskey got out of the vehicle and raised his hands in a placating gesture.

“I gotta frisk him,” he said. “This works both ways.”

Gideon still eyed him carefully and Will went entirely still when McCluskey stepped toward him. His ran his hands along his body, checking for hidden weapons. Will tried not to let the touch bother him, but after what had happened at the hospital he didn’t want the man’s hands on him at all.

Finally, McCluskey stepped back and nodded. “He’s clean.”

Will relaxed marginally as soon as McCluskey wasn’t in his space anymore. He motioned toward the car and Will realized that he wanted him to get in ahead of him. He glanced at Gideon, who nodded slightly, and climbed inside carefully. There were two men in the front—the driver and someone that Will assumed was Chilton. McCluskey slid into the seat after him and gave him a smile that sent chills down his spine. As soon as the door closed the driver pulled away from the curb.

There was silence for a long moment before the passenger in the front seat turned and smiled at Will. The smile didn’t reach his eyes and Will could feel the edge of nervous anticipation to it.

“Mr. Graham, it’s so nice to meet you,” he said. “Dr. Frederick Chilton.” He said it as if Will should be impressed, as if he wasn’t responsible for his uncle’s current health problems. Will clenched his fists and said nothing.

Chilton didn’t seem deterred, offering a hand over the seat. Will had to take several breaths through his nose to make himself relax enough to grasp the hand. Chilton seemed pleased enough. He nodded toward McCluskey. “You’ve already met Captain McCluskey, of course.”

McCluskey grunted and eyed Will’s swollen jaw. “Sorry about you face, Mr. Graham,” he said. He didn’t sound sorry. “I got a little excited. Dealing with punks all day… I lost my head a little. You understand.”

Will nodded and forced himself to meet McCluskey’s eyes for a moment. “It’s fine. Of course I understand.” His jaw twitched and pulsed with his words and he looked away. He wasn’t in any mood to make small talk and he was grateful when Chilton didn’t try. They road in relative silence and little incident.

For a moment, Will panicked when he didn’t recognize the route the driver was taking them to the restaurant, but he realized soon enough that the driver was just making sure they weren’t tailed. It took twice as long as it should have for them to reach the restaurant, but he felt a little of the tension dissipate when he recognized the little Italian place, it’s front all lit up.

McCluskey led the way inside and Chilton fell in step beside Will, watching him carefully. Will kept his eyes forward and pretended that he didn’t notice. There were few people inside the restaurant, like he had been told. Only a few couples chattered quietly at the far spaced out tables. At least that meant that there would be few witnesses to the murders.

Will’s gut twisted once more when they were seated at a small table near the back—away from the other patrons. The isolation was another good thing, but now that they were sitting down, Will could feel the time ticking away. He had a timetable to stick too, but he couldn’t appear too antsy and draw their suspicion.

The waiter took their orders and was gone quickly, which apparently signaled the start of their meeting. Chilton leaned forward and crossed his legs, trying to make eye contact. Will stared instead at his collar and wondered exactly how well Chilton expected this conversation to go.

“I’m glad you agreed to meet with me Will—may I call you Will?”

Will almost shook his head, almost snapped that he could most definitely not, but he caught himself and nodded. “Of course, Doctor.”

Chilton smiled, “Please. Frederick. We’re all friends here, are we not? This is just a civil conversation. No need for any hostilities.”

Will’s eyes darted to McCluskey, who didn’t seem to be paying them any attention at all. Chilton made a face and shook his head.

“He’s just here for protection, Will. There is no reason for concern. Your uncle and your family are perfectly safe. Do you think I really wanted this to happen? All I did was propose a simple business deal. Your uncle declined and I respected that. You and your brother are treating me like I’m the aggressor here, but I’m the hunted one, Will. I’m the one hiding out in houses and being forced to take protection with me everywhere. I’m just one man. I can’t do anything against your family.”

Will almost snorted, but again he stopped himself. He had never realized how easy it was to pretend to feel something he didn’t, but he was a better actor than he would have thought. He nodded emphatically in agreement to Chilton’s words.

“It was just business,” Will said. “My uncle will understand that. I understand that. Family is very important to Hannibal though. I’m not sure why you think I can convince him not to pursue you for your attack.”

“Attack,” Chilton scoffed. “I took a shot, Will. That’s all. Can you blame a guy for taking a shot? I don’t want any fighting. The bloodshed won’t end with me. Surely Hannibal knows that. Surely he understands that starting a war won’t benefit anyone, least of all the Lecter Family.”

He was hopeful. Will could feel Chilton’s desperate need to preserve his life.

Slowly, he spoke. “He doesn’t want a war,” he admitted. “But Robert is his uncle. He loves him. He isn’t going to be able to simply let it go.”

Chilton huffed, “You’re close to him, aren’t you, Will? You can convince him that it isn’t in his best interest to start a war. It’s more profitable for him—for everyone—if you make a deal with me. My offer to Robert still stands. We can make this work to our favor if he’s will to see reason. Hannibal is a reasonable man, isn’t he?”

He certainly was, Will had to admit. He was also a vengeful man though. “If you can prove that it would be worthwhile to take your offer, I can make him come around. He seemed interested in your offer before.”

Chilton’s smile was wolfish. “Excellent!”

His laid out all his terms—the same ones that he had offered to Robert earlier. He even suggested increasing the payout to the Lecter Family as a way of appeasing both Hannibal and Robert. Will listened impassively and nodded in all the right places. He was starting to get fidgety by the time the food was brought out.

They didn’t talk much about the deal while they ate. McCluskey hadn’t said hardly a word since they had sat down. Will wondered what Chilton was paying him to sit here and be his bodyguard. It must be a fairly handsome fee to get a New York police offer to follow him around.

Finally, halfway through the meal, Will looked up and caught Chilton’s eye for a moment.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” he said, careful to keep his voice quiet. “Is that alright?”

McCluskey glanced at him and nodded, but Chilton narrowed his eyes. Will’s heart hammered away in his chest when the other man studied him. He got the unpleasant feeling that he was trying to read his mind. Eventually, Chilton waved him forward and took his time checking Will for weapons. Will’s skin crawled and he stared ahead, biting his lip to keep from protesting.

“Okay. Hurry back, Will. We’ve got more to discuss.”

Will nodded and had to stop himself from sprinting to the bathroom. Once he was inside, he practically fell against the door and breathed deeply several times. He moved to the sink first and splashed cold water on his face. He took a long moment to collect his frayed nerves and turned toward the toilet.

It was an old toilet, with the pull lever to flush, just as he had been told. The large box hung above it and he moved around carefully to stick his hand behind it. At first he felt nothing but air and panic started to set in again, but then his fingers grazed something cold and metal. He yanked it down and stared at the small gun for a moment. It felt heavier than it had that morning.

Swallowing, Will closed his eyes. This was it. He was about to walk out of the bathroom and kill two people in cold blood. He was about to do something he never thought he would do. His hands shook. He lowered his arms and held the gun tightly. He straightened his spine and used his free hand to push the bathroom door open.

The restaurant looked no different than it had when he went in, but it felt different. He could hear the other couples’ conversations like they were magnified in his ears. Voices came in too loudly from the kitchen over the sounds of pots and pans clanging. The light was too yellow and he could feel every single pulsing beat of his heart.

He walked rigidly back to the table. He could hear Chilton talking with McCluskey, but the words were and indistinct buzz. He stopped at his seat and stared at them for a moment. Neither of them realized his behavior at first, but the second Chilton looked up, Will snapped. He could feel the blood coursing through his veins and the sweat that was gathering on his temples. The gun was freezing and heavy in his grasp and he lifted it without thinking.

One shot. It was loud. The noise tore through his ear drums and he barely noticed the blood as Chilton’s skull practically exploded with the impact. Bone and brain shot out with the blood in a thick spray. Chilton’s chair toppled over and Will stared in shock, frozen and unsure of what to do.

Movement to his left sent him spinning on his heel and facing McCluskey. The cop’s mouth was hanging open and food was still inside. Rage blinded Will for a moment and he pulled the trigger again, the noise not as severe as it had been the first time—just a distant ringing in his ears. The bullet didn’t hit McCluskey’s head, instead tearing through his neck. The blood shot out in a thick spurt and Will stumbled back as McCluskey jerked forward, turning the table over in his effort to stand.

Will yanked the trigger back a third and last time, his eyes wide. This time the bullet hit its mark and stopped McCluskey dead. He fell over onto the upturned table and Will watched for a moment as the blood began to seep out and form a thick, red puddle there.

It couldn’t have been more than twenty seconds, but it felt like an hour. Will slowly became aware of screaming and then he turned to face the rest of restaurant. He was breathing too quickly and didn’t notice the blood on his face or hands. He couldn’t swallow around the lump in his throat and he jerkily made his way to the door, suddenly remembering that he had to get out of there.

He almost forgot that he still had the gun until he saw his reflection in the glass of the doors. He forced his fingers to let go of it and waited until he heard it thud to the ground before he lurched forward again. He barely made it outside into the cold evening air when he spotted the flashing headlights and a dark sedan pulled up to greet him, its door already flung open.

Numbly, Will slid inside, not even bothering to see who the driver was. He stared down at his bloody hands as they sped away into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, all mistakes are my own. Please feel free to comment and critique!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who else is excited for tonight's episode?! I'm about to explode with impatience!!

The fire in Robert’s office had died down nearly an hour earlier, but Hannibal had not moved from the desk to tend to it. The room was silent save for the quiet pops coming from the fireplace and he sat staring into the embers with a blank expression on his face. The only indication that he was alive was the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

His head turned slightly at a knock on the door and he leaned forward when he saw Tobias enter.

“It’s done,” Tobias said somberly. “The police are already all over the place.” He sat down across from Hannibal and made a face. “The heat is going to come down on us strong,” he said. “And not just the Lecter Family, Hannibal. The cops are going to go after all the Families. They’re all going to turn against us. We’ll be at war before the tomorrow morning.”

Hannibal’s lips quirked—not quite a smile, but amusement flickered in his eyes. “We’re already at war, Tobias,” he said. “There was no alternative.”

Tobias scowled. “The alternative was _not_ gunning down a New York police officer.”

“And then leaving a witness who could identify Will,” Hannibal shook his head. “No, Tobias. We had no other option. Now, I want you to call our men in the papers and get them to start spinning the story of this police captain’s corruption. The faster we act, the sooner we will be able to bring William home.”

“That’s not going to be for a while,” Tobias warned him. “No matter how soon we get the story to circulate, we’ve got to wait for the police to get wind of it and try to smother it. They’ll be too concerned looking for the killer of one of their own for that, at least at first. We’re talking a year, minimum. And that’s not figuring in how many of the Families are going to blame him for the war and want his head for that.”

Hannibal nodded, “It will take time,” he acknowledged, “but I am patient. We can ride out this war and negotiate a peace when the other Families grow tired of the bloodshed. With Dr. Chilton gone and Uncle Robert on the mend, I believe that it will not take very long before we are able to come to an understanding.”

Tobias looked unconvinced. “We’ll have to hit them hard and fast if we want this to go away as quickly as possible. Right now they all know we’re weakened without your uncle. We have to show them that we’ve still got the muscle and the power to take them out, even without your uncle’s friends.”

“It will work out,” Hannibal said, supremely confident. “I’m certain. Now, I trust Will made it to the boat in one piece?”

Tobias nodded. “Jimmy said he was quiet the whole ride there. He barely moved except to scrub the blood off of himself before he got on board.”

Thoughtfully, Hannibal nodded. “And in England?”

“Your Uncle’s friends will be waiting when the boat docks and they’ll get him into France. They’ve already got a little apartment set up for him there with one of your cousins—or some kind of distant relative anyway. We’ll set up a safe phone here in the house and you can call him to check in, but it’ll take us a few months…”

“It would be wise not to have the phone in the house,” Hannibal said. “Perhaps it would be better suited to acquire an apartment in the city? The police are not the only ones who will be trying to find a weakness in our defenses. I have spotted FBI agents in the street multiple times.”

Tobias swore under his breath and nodded. “An apartment in the city would be a better idea if we weren’t at war. You can risk getting ambushed like Robert; you’re the only leader we’ve got right now and we need you alive. The phone can go in one of the houses here on the mall; it doesn’t have to be this house. What about the house where Mischa and that husband of hers are staying?”

“Mischa and Mason have expressed interest in returning to their apartment,” Hannibal said. “In the city.”

Tobias pressed his lips together and sighed, “Fine, fine. We’ll put the phone there if you’re sure she’ll be safe.”

Hannibal tilted his head, “You believe they would go after her?”

Tobias shook his head, “No. She’s a civilian. Women and family aren’t matters of business. They’ll respect that.”

“Good,” Hannibal nodded. “Then for now I think that is all. It’s late and I am tired.”

Tobias stood and turned to leave, but paused and suddenly turned back. “I nearly forgot,” he said, slipping a hand into his inner coat pocket. “Will gave me this before he left. It’s a letter to that girl of his.” He pulled the small envelope out and passed it over to Hannibal. “He asked me to get you to deliver it for him.”

He stared down at the letter for a long moment before meeting Tobias’s gaze once more, that faint not-smile playing on his lips. “Of course. Thank you, Tobias. Good night.”

“Good night,” Tobias tipped his head in goodbye and left, the door clicking shut behind him. Hannibal waited until he could no longer hear Tobias’s footfalls before he moved.

Keeping the envelope clutched tightly one hand, Hannibal knelt before the hearth and stroked the dying embers, adding more wood carefully. The flames slowly began to dance and crackle once more, reflecting in his strange maroon eyes. Once he was satisfied with the fire, he sat back on his haunches and gently fed Will’s letter to the flames, watching with a delighted expression as it turned to ash in front of him.

It was childish, perhaps, but Hannibal was beyond caring. Anything that he could do to drive a wedge between Will and Alana Bloom was entirely worthwhile. At least a year apart, with no explanation from Will, would certainly be enough to make her question their relationship and send Will right back to him. Where he belonged.

* * *

Hannibal was not surprised when, early the following afternoon, Tobias came to him and told him that an FBI agent was waiting at the gates and wanted to speak with him. He told Tobias to bring him in and lead him to the office. Tobias had not been enthusiastic about that idea, telling him that they already had enough problems with the police and the other Families ready to take them down.

“It will be fine,” Hannibal had assured him. “If the FBI had any solid evidence against us we would be under arrest, Tobias. We are alright.”

Tobias had reluctantly obeyed and Hannibal now found himself smiling genially at an FBI agent with a firm handshake.

“I’m Agent Jack Crawford, Mr. Lecter,” the man said gruffly. “I understand that you’ve taken over the family business while your uncle is in the hospital—and I’m sorry to hear about that, by the way. I wish him a speedy recovery.”

“As do we all,” Hannibal said, motioning for Crawford to take a seat as he moved around the desk to sit down as well. “His doctors believe he may be ready to be moved from the hospital in a few weeks so that we can have a private nurse see to his care here at the house.”

“Ah,” Crawford nodded. “That’s promising news then… but you didn’t answer my question.”

Hannibal blinked slowly, as if searching his memory for the unanswered question. “About taking over my uncle’s importing business? I apologize Mr. Crawford—“

“ _Agent_ ,” Crawford corrected with a stiff smile.

“Agent Crawford,” Hannibal nodded. “I apologize. Yes, I am temporarily in charge of my uncle’s business, though mostly I am just making sure that things run smoothly until he is able to take over again. I’m not entirely sure how that is a matter for the FBI, however. Surely you have more important things to look into.”

“We do,” Crawford said. “And we are, as a matter of fact. There was a double homicide in the city just last night. You wouldn’t know anything about that?”

Hannibal appeared shocked. “Are you suggesting that I killed those men, Agent?”

Crawford laughed and shook his head; warmth that was entirely false entered his tone as he answered. “No, of course not, Mr. Lecter. But your uncle was friends with Frederick Chilton, one of the men killed.”

Hannibal tilted his head. “Friends is a strong word,” he said. “My father met with Dr. Chilton only very briefly, several months ago. He has not spoken to him since then. They were hardly even acquaintances.”

“But your uncle did know Dr. Chilton,”

Hannibal hesitated and his eyes narrowed slightly. “Yes,” he said. “Very casually.”

“What exactly was his relationship with Dr. Chilton?”

“I’m afraid I do not know,” Hannibal said. “My uncle is a very private man. He does not often speak of his relationships outside of the family to anyone.”

“Not even his favorite nephew?” Crawford raised a brow.

Hannibal pursed his lips, “My uncle did not favor anyone,” he said sternly. “Except perhaps for my sister, Mischa. He was always very careful not to show partiality to anyone.”

“Ah,” Crawford nodded. “I see.” He was quiet for a moment as he looked around the office and Hannibal watched him with a faint look of curiosity on his face.

“Was that all, Agent Crawford? I am quite busy and I would hate to waste your time as well as my own.”

Crawford turned to look at him once more, meeting his eyes. He stared at him silent for a heartbeat and then smiled. “Where’s your brother?”

“My brother?” Hannibal asked. “You are speaking of Will Graham, I presume?”

“Yes, Will Graham. I spoke with him briefly after your sister’s wedding. I hear that he’s in the city again, after your uncle’s attack. I was wondering if I could talk to him.”

“That is impossible, I’m afraid,” Hannibal said. “Will has already returned to school.”

“Already? Surely he has another week or so of holiday left?”

Hannibal smiled. “He also has a girl waiting for him,” he said. “He stayed longer than he intended because of Uncle Robert’s injuries, but he had promised her to spend the holidays with her and her family. He departed sometime yesterday morning.”

Crawford eyed him piercingly. “Strange,” he said. “Eye witness reports from the shooting last night sounded an awful lot like your brother.”

Hannibal’s smile was hard. “Then they are mistaken,” he said. “I can assure you, Will was far from the city when those men were killed.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know the name of that girl of his, would you?” Crawford asked. “Just so I can make sure.”

“Of course,” Hannibal said. “Her name is Alana Bloom. Though I’m sure you’ll get nowhere, Agent. Will did not have even a tenuous connection to Dr. Chilton and if you suspect that this had something to do with my uncle and his business—which, I assure it did not—well, Will has never had any interest in what my does for a living.”

“I’ve heard that,” Crawford said, standing and straightening his jacket. Hannibal stood as well, moving around the desk to see him out. “However, desperate circumstances can change people, Mr. Lecter. I’m merely checking what little information I have. There is strong evidence that Dr. Chilton and Captain McCluskey were killed by a hit man…”

Hannibal’s eyes widened as he opened the office door and lead Crawford toward the exit. “A hit man?”

“Funny though,” Crawford met Hannibal’s eyes one more time. “I can’t figure how a police captain and a doctor would get mixed up in any mob affairs. Guess I’m just grasping at straws trying to figure this out.”

Hannibal kept his smile in place, taking Crawford’s hat and overcoat and passing them to him once they reached the foyer. “I wish you luck with your investigation, Agent Crawford,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually.”

Crawford produced a small white card and passed it to him. “I’m sure I will to,” he said. “If you do think of anything, the number to my office is on the card. I would appreciate it if you could get Mr. Graham to call as well if you hear from him before I get a chance to talk to him.”

“I will do what I can,” Hannibal assured him. Crawford nodded and tipped his hat to him before leaving. Hannibal stared after him, watching as he made his way to his car and sped out of the mall. He glanced down at the neat white cardstock and briefly considered crushing it in his fist.

However, Crawford was close enough to be a threat, but far enough from any real evidence and Hannibal believed that he could potentially prove useful. He slipped the card into his pocket and made a mental note to speak with Tobias about Agent Jack Crawford. He couldn’t very well buy out the so far incorruptible FBI, but he could certainly make use of one dogged agent who had strayed too close to the truth. And if nothing else, a quiet disappearance was not that difficult to arrange, even for an FBI agent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, all mistakes are my own. Comments and critique are welcome and appreciated! Please feel free to leave me your thoughts.
> 
> So... We have now officially entered the part of the story where Will and Hannibal will be separated for a while. I'm thinking that the chapters are going to alternate between Will and Hannibal's POVs while Will is away--so chapter 12 will be from Will's POV, chapter 13 from Hannibal's, etc.
> 
> And don't worry, Alana isn't out of the picture. (And Molly is about to enter it for a brief period before I do bad things...)
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as usual for the comments, kudos, and bookmarks!
> 
> I am so excited for the episode tonight! Last week's nearly killed me!

_Paris – January, 1946_

_New Year’s Day_

Will spent less than a day in England before he was ushered unceremoniously to Paris, France. Although Robert, Theresa and Hannibal and Mischa had immigrated to the United States from Lithuania, very little of the remaining extended family remained in the country. Most of Robert’s distant cousins had left after the Great War, though the majority stayed in Europe. It was with an old cousin of Robert’s that Will was staying. He spoke mostly Lithuanian with no English and sparse French, which left Will woefully unable to communicate with him outside of the men Hannibal had conscripted to stay with Will as an unnecessary protection detail.

The city was vaguely familiar to Will, who had spent time there during the war. He spoke enough French to get by, though he had yet to venture outside of the rather lavish home. He read books and thought about Alana, missing her more the longer he allowed himself to think about her. He had sent a letter back to Hannibal upon his arrival in the country, but didn’t expect to hear back and doubted that he would be permitted to write again.

It wasn’t until he realized that it was New Year's Day that Will decided to go out and explore the city a bit more. He was likely to be there for a while; he might as well familiarize himself with it.

The air was biting and cold, but Will didn’t mind. He wrapped himself in his winter coat and wandered through the streets, admiring what he hadn’t been able to before. Paris was a beautiful city—breathtaking, really. It felt so full of history and magic that Will almost got lost in the heady rush of it all. It was different from New York, somehow. It felt freer and infinitely more ancient. He didn’t talk to anyone—people would have spoiled it, as far as he was concerned. Conversation was the last thing on his mind when he found himself sitting at a long and well-waxed bar in a quiet, dim-lit club.

He was lost in thought—Hannibal, Alana, Mischa, and his uncle all vying for attention in his mind—when a woman leaned over next to him, speaking in oddly accented French. He turned automatically to look at her and was struck at how beautiful she was, though not in a conventional sense; she was attractive in a surprisingly rough way. She had broad shoulders and muddy brown eyes. Her skin was ruddy and flushed from the cold and her hair was pulled away from her face in a messy sort of twist, stray curls hanging down around her face everywhere.

She caught his eyes and smiled at him, raising a brow. “American?” she asked, taking a seat next to him. Her accent was decidedly English, explaining how off the French words had sounded in her voice. He caught himself smiling before he realized it and nodded.

“How did you guess?”

She smiled, but didn’t say anything for a moment, turning to accept her drink from the man behind the bar before looking at him again.

“You have that look about you,” she said. “Molly Foster.” She thrust her hand out and eyed him in interest. Will hesitated before taking her hand. He had never seen a woman quite as bold as her—not even in the war, when women were doing almost everything but picking up a gun and fighting alongside of him.

Her fingers were cold and stiff around his, but it felt nice to have physical contact with another person. She took a heavy swig off her drink before setting the glass aside and turning bodily toward him.

“Will Graham,” he introduced himself. It was probably not a good idea to use his name in a public place, but it had slipped out before he could stop himself.

“Why Paris then?” she asked. He blinked at her and she suppressed a laugh. Her good-natured boldness was infectious and Will wanted to laugh too. He could feel her utter lack of concern for society and social mores and it made him slightly dizzy.

“Why are you in Paris?” she clarified.

“Ah,” Will frowned and looked down at his own drink for a moment. “That’s complicated.”

“Complicated sounds interesting,” Molly said.

His smile felt awkward and slightly bitter. “Not really,” he told her. Silence hung there for a moment before he glanced at her again out of the corner of his eyes. “What about you? What brings you here?”

“I wanted a change of scenery, and I’ve got family here. After the war… well, London doesn’t feel quite like home at the moment.”

Suddenly, she sat up straighter, her eyes glinting happily. “How long have you been here?”

“Only a few days,” Will admitted. “But I was here once, during the war.”

“Ex-Army then?” she asked. “You do have that military look.”

He laughed. “So now I’ve got an American look and a military look?”

“Don’t sound so insulted. I never said either was a bad thing.”

“Of course,” he smiled. “Well, no, I’m not ex-Army. I was a Marine.”

“Ah,” she nodded. “I wasn’t far off then.”

“What about you?” he asked. “Did you take part in the war effort?” She seemed like the type who would have, though he couldn’t picture Molly as a nurse.

“I was in the SOE,” she said. “Spent a bit of time here, actually, in ’43, as a radio operator. But I was stationed in Belgium most of the time.”

Will raised a brow. He wasn’t surprised to hear that, really, but it was a risky thing to be sent into Nazi-occupied countries. Molly was a small woman, even with her very obvious boldness and determination. He remembered the war for a moment and the stink of fear all around him and wondered how she had held up during that. He didn’t ask.

He studied her face. There were lines around her eyes and mouth and her skin was weather-beaten and her complexion was still ruddy and flushed. Looking down at her hands he noticed how sure they looked—they weren’t delicate like most women’s. Like Alana’s. Molly’s hands were large and wide. Her arms were defined and powerful-looking as well. He imagined she could throw one hell of a punch. She probably had no trouble defending herself.

He realized slowly that she was older than him by several years. It wasn’t something that was immediately apparent, but gradually he became aware of the signs of aging and maturity in her face. She didn’t have the softness of youth in her eyes and expression.

She quirked a brow at him and leaned closer, searching his eyes. “Will, are you in there?” she joked.

He pulled back and flushed. “Sorry,” he said. “I was just thinking.”

She nodded. “How long are going to be in Paris, Will?” she asked. “Maybe we’ll see one another again.”

“I’ll be here a while,” he told her. “I don’t know when I’m going home, to be honest.”

“Right,” she smiled and stood, downing the rest of her drink fluidly. “Well then I hope to see you again. Perhaps we can have see the city together without having to worry about a war being on.” Her smiled had turned a bit hard at her words, but her eyes still shone.

Will nodded and started to turn away once she began to leave, but something stopped him. He had been along the last few days and was already feeling the pangs of loneliness. Molly seemed like good company and conversation with her hadn’t left him feeling exhausted as it did with some.

“Wait,” he turned around and reached toward her, stopping just shy of grabbing her arm. She turned to face him again, brow raised in curiosity.

“Why not tonight?” he said. “It’s a new year and the city is beautiful at night.”

She grinned. “I would be delighted, Mr. Graham,” she said. “You can meet me here—eight o’clock. Don’t be late.”

And with that, she left. Will felt a warmth in his gut as he watched her leave, but then it suddenly turned to lead. He hoped she hadn’t expect this to be a romantic endeavor on his part. He would have to tell her about Alana and make sure that she didn’t get the wrong idea. Even if he couldn’t see Alana for a long time, he had no plans of being unfaithful to her. He was already lying to her as it was.

Restlessly, he tapped his fingers against the bar top and wondered what was happening back home. War had likely broken out already and things were probably going to be rough for his family for a long time. He wished he were there. He was partly responsible for this and they were his family. He should be helping. He finished off his drink and stared down into the empty glass, feeling useless all of a sudden and wishing for something productive to do.

* * *

He really hadn’t expected the night with Molly to go as well as it had. Even after he explained about Alana and his commitment to her, Molly had seemed completely unconcerned.

“Men and women can be friends without there being anything romantic going on, Will,” she had told him. “Don’t you have any women friends? Surely you made a few during the war at least?”

Will could only shake his head though—aside from Mischa and Alana he had never been close with any woman. He didn’t really find most women appealing, if he were honest. The ones he had met back home were shallow and coy and self-absorbed. The few he’d known during the war were another story altogether—distant and brash and unapproachable for a man like Will Graham.

Molly had laughed at Will’s anxiousness and took his hand in her own—her fingers gloved this time, soft leather brushing against his own gloved hands. “Well trust me, Will;” she said, “it’s possible.”

Though they’re plan had been to explore the city and its sights, they spent the vast majority of their time talking. They walked along the Seine and took a cab to Notre Dame, both standing silently for a moment outside of the cathedral, but mostly they did exactly as Will had that morning: wandered aimlessly around without intent.

Molly did most of the talking, which was fine with Will, who preferred to listen than to be listened to in most social situations. She spoke about the war and about her flat back in London, she talked about her dreams—unsurprisingly big dreams—of wanting to fly and about her family. She seemed to exude candor, never straying from a topic even if it clearly made her uncomfortable.

There was, though, something she wasn’t telling him. Her eyes would get sad and her smile would fade as she talked about London and her family. He didn’t pry; it wasn’t as if he was baring his soul to her and he didn’t mind her keeping things to herself. The fact that he could tell she was spoke more about his uncomfortably close understanding of people and their motives than her.

At one point she had stopped talking altogether and just stared at him, as if she was trying to pull words from his skull.

“I’ve chatted your ear off about myself all night and you’ve barely said a word about yourself,” she had said with a tiny frown on her face. “You said you were from New York? What’s it like there? And this fiancée, surely there’s a story there. Why would you leave her if you intend to marry her?”

Will evaded her question with a shrug. “It’s a very long story,” he said.

“I’ve just told you practically my entire life’s story,” Molly said. “Don’t you owe me something in return?”

He had laughed and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “It was—family business. I had to take care of something first.”

Molly had narrowed her eyes. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to… but I’d like to know _something_ about the man I’ve just spilled my soul to.”

He grinned then, a wide and brief smile that made Molly grin as well.

“Alright. I’ll tell you about growing up in New York then. It wasn’t glamorous though, trust me…” And he’d launched into a story about the city and about the Lecters—he didn’t mention them by name, of course. It felt strange to all of Molly’s attention on him. Her weighted stare reminded him of Alana and the way she would watch him and listen to him as if his words were the most important in the entire world.

She had gotten excited once he told her about Winston and suddenly his past was forgotten as they spent the rest of the evening discussing dogs—Molly’s parents had had three when she was a child and she had always wanted one as an adult, but had never had the time or means to take care of one. She sighed wistfully when talking about her former pets and Will felt an unexpected surge of sadness when he thought of Winston. He would probably never see him alive again.

They said goodnight outside of Molly’s aunt’s home and she kissed him on the cheek before he could stop her. She smiled brightly at him when he stumbled back and she shook her head.

“Good night, Will,” she said. “Thank you for keeping me company tonight. I’d likely have gone out of my mind with boredom otherwise.”

She turned before he could reply and disappeared inside. He stood there, lingering, for a moment. Slowly he turned and headed back to the street, back to his safe house where he felt more like a prisoner than a guest.

He went straight to the room he had been sleeping in and laid down, closing his eyes. Dreams came to him quickly that night—visions of Alana and Molly swirling in his mind alongside of images of blood and gunshots and death. He wondered if he would ever have a peaceful night’s sleep every again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All mistakes are my own. Comments and critique are welcome and much appreciated!
> 
> So... the introduction of Molly Foster-Graham. I will admit to not liking Molly very much in the film and only liking her a bit more than not-at-all in the book. Still. I hope I did her justice; I want her to be a strong, independent woman and I want this relationship-evolution to feel natural.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OhmyLucifer, guys, that last episode almost gave me a heart attack! It was amazing! So excited for tonight!

_New York City – March, 1946_

True to Hannibal’s predictions, the police started hitting their businesses hard after news of McCluskey’s murder hit. Within the space of two months they managed to shut down three of the Lecter Family’s gambling houses and two of the Tattaliga’s brothels near the docks. After that, the war started in earnest.

Hannibal had already tried to discuss a peaceful resolution to the war—pointing out that the police would eventually lose their fire—but the Tattaligas was hearing none of it and the other Families were supporting them. They were losing business and men and it could take years for the defamation of McCluskey’s honor to erase the NYPD’s need to avenge their comrade.

They went to the mattresses less than a week after Will’s departure. The casualties began almost immediately. Most were button-men, taken out on the street by the opposing side. The Lecter Family lost more than the others did. Hannibal was not overly concerned, of course. Men were replaceable. He had not lost Tobias, Dolarhyde or Gideon and they were his biggest assets—Tobias for his insight and advice, Gideon for his cunning and his loyal soldiers, and Dolarhyde for his frighteningly brutal tactics.

They had finally moved Robert Lecter back home two days before and Hannibal was able to think far more clearly once his uncle was settled. Mischa and her husband had returned to their apartment in the city, much to Hannibal’s annoyance, but he insisted that they visit often and Mischa stayed in constant contact. Everyone important to Hannibal was safe; he was confident that no one would find Will’s location before he needed to be brought home. Now all that was left to do was to fight and hold off the forces of the other Families long enough for them to see reason.

Spending most of his time in his uncle’s office, Hannibal had not been to see Robert since they set up his room just down the hall. Now that it was time for lunch, and his Aunt Theresa had informed him that Robert was alert and asking questions, he decided to pay him a visit.

Robert Lecter looked frail in his bed—his skin withered and pale, dark circles beneath his eyes—but he smiled brightly when he saw his nephew entered. He tried to sit up, but his arms were not strong enough yet to support him. Hannibal moved quickly to his side and assisted him, taking the chair beside the bed once Robert was settled against the headboard.

“You haven’t been sleeping,” Robert chided him with a familiar smile. “You need to rest, Hannibal.”

“I have been busy of late, Uncle,” Hannibal said. “Unfortunately time does not permit rest when there are so many other things to do.”

Robert nodded. “You Aunt told me. The Tattaligas are waging war.”

“Along with the other Families,” Hannibal nodded.

Robert’s face grew serious. “You should not have killed that police captain. That was a risky move. I’m surprised you were able to convince anyone to take that job.”

Hannibal looked away from his uncle then. They had yet to tell him about Will’s involvement in the deaths and Hannibal knew that Robert would be unhappy once he learned the truth. Hannibal did not want to face his uncle’s wrath—his opinion was one of the very few that Hannibal truly valued.

Sensing that something was wrong, Robert narrowed his eyes. “What is it?” he demanded. “What’s wrong, Hannibal?”

Meeting his gaze, Hannibal told him. “Will was the shooter, Uncle. It was Will who killed Chilton and the police captain.”

The silence stretched on for a long moment and Hannibal did not look away. Finally, Robert shook his head and Hannibal spotted the faintest glittering of tears in his eyes. Reaching out, Robert took Hannibal’s hand and stared at it, grasping it weakly.

“No,” he said. “No, you tell me the truth. Who carried out the hit? Don’t say it was your brother. Don’t tell me that.”

Hannibal leaned forward and gripped his uncle’s hand tighter within his own. “I am sorry, Uncle. It’s true. Will insisted on being of use and it was his idea to kill the police captain, originally. I could not persuade him otherwise.”

Robert let out a half-choked sob. “Will wouldn’t,” he said. “Will—Will wanted nothing to do with this. He was going to marry that girl, that Alana. He was going to be a professor and get away from this. He wouldn’t do this.”

Hannibal felt a wave of icy rage sweep through him at Alana’s name, but he did not let it show on his face. “I’m afraid he did,” he said quietly. “He was incensed after Chilton tried to have you murdered. He cares about you as much as Mischa or I, Uncle. He could not let that insult pass, and neither could I. We had no choice.”

Robert fixed Hannibal was a stern look. “There is always a choice,” he said. “I taught you that. You did not have to kill Chilton or this McCluskey fellow. You could have left it alone. We would not be in the midst of war now if you had.”

Hannibal nodded. “True, but Chilton would not have given up. He would have tried to take your life again. Perhaps he would have eventually succeeded.  We did not want to take that risk. The war will end, Uncle. We will survive and we will bring Will home.”

“You make sure of that,” Robert said. “You bring him home. You bring him home and keep him safe, Hannibal. I will not see him dead. I will not see your sister dead. I will not see you dead. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Hannibal assured him. “I will take care of them, Uncle, until you are able to return to the head of the Family. I won’t let anything happen to them, I assured you.”

* * *

It was growing late and the sun was beginning to set when Theresa Lecter interrupted Hannibal’s meeting with Tobias and Gideon.

“Alana Bloom is here,” she said. “She is waiting in the foyer to speak with you. She has questions about Will.”

Hannibal’s skin prickled with the anger that coursed through him, but he had expected this. Will’s fiancée had began calling days after the murders, worried about Will. She had at first accepted their story that he was taking time to clear his head, but by the end of January had begun calling twice a day, demanding answers. It was becoming tedious.

He excused himself and followed his aunt out of the office. Alana Bloom was standing just inside the foyer, her arms crossed over her chest and her expression grim and determined. He smiled at her brightly and put a warm hand at the small of her back, leading her into the den.

“Miss Bloom,” he said, his voice bright, “it’s a pleasure to see you again. I expected from your last phone call that you were still in school.”

She didn’t respond at first, her entire body tense and twitchy. She took her coat off and handed it to him when he offered to take it from her. He laid it carefully across the back of a chair before turning to face her again.

“I haven’t heard from Will since just after Christmas,” she said. “He hasn’t been back to school, he’s never here when I call or he never wants to talk.” Suddenly, her voice took on a stern and angry tone. “I want to speak with him, Hannibal. I want to see him. The things the papers are saying…”

With a heavy sigh, Hannibal motioned for her to sit. She remained standing.

“I’m afraid I cannot tell you much, Miss Bloom-“

“Alana,” she said. “I asked you before to call me Alana.”

He blinked and nodded. “Of course. My apologies. As I was saying, I cannot tell you much. There is very little to tell. Will had to leave unexpectedly. I do not know where he is and am not in contact with him. If he has not spoken to you that is his decision.”

Fixing him with a steady glare, Alana pursed her lips. “You know where he is. You just don’t want to tell me. Why? Why is he hiding? Why are you hiding him from me?” Her eyes were bright and sharp and she took a half-step toward him, her brow furrowing. “Is it true?”

Hannibal tilted his head. “Is what true?” he asked.

She spoke with a hushed voice then, eyes wide and vaguely frightened. “What the papers are saying. Is it true? Did Will really kills those men?”

“The papers are not saying that,” Hannibal evaded the question. “As far as I am aware, they have merely stated that the police would like to speak with Will to find out if he knows anything. It’s merely precautionary because of his connection to our uncle.”

“My God,” Alana whispered. “It is true. You’re… you’re murderers. Gangsters. I didn’t really believe Will, when he said…” She seemed to have lost her voice, for which Hannibal was very pleased.

“Our family runs an import business, Miss Bloom. Whatever stories Will told you were fantasies and I can assure you that we had nothing to do with the deaths of those two men last Christmas.” He knew she wouldn’t believe him, but on the chance that she decided to go to the police, she would not have his confession to persuade them.

Her eyes glinted and he thought idly of ripping them out. He wondered what Will would think of her without them. He had never had such a violent urge to harm someone, but this woman was standing between him and what was rightfully his. He could not allow that to continue.

She nodded curtly and then moved to grab her coat, throwing it on and slipping a hand into a pocket. She pulled out a stiff envelope and held it out to him. He spotted Will’s name written neatly on the front and could smell her perfume clinging to it from being within the confines of her coat all day.

“Could you give to him? Please? I need to speak with him somehow.”

He backed away slightly and held up his hands. “I cannot take that,” he told her. “As I said, I do not know where William is at the moment. I would not be able to send it to him.”

Frowning, Alana didn’t retract the offered letter. “I know you know,” she said. “I understand you can’t tell me, if you’re worried about him, but please just make sure he gets this.”

“I’m very sorry, Miss Bloom. I cannot do that. It would look very incriminating, don’t you think, if I were to take this letter after telling you that I am unaware of Will’s whereabouts.”

Her fingers tightened over the envelope, crinkling it. “You are aware of his whereabouts,” she said sharply. “Will and I were supposed to be married by now. Don’t you think I at least deserve the courtesy of being able to give him a letter?”

His expression softening, Hannibal put a hand on her shoulder. “I understand,” he told her. “But I cannot help you. None of the family has been able to contact him either. We all miss him and would love to be able to communicate with him, but it is not possible. I’m sure that he will come to call on you once he is able to return. You must be patient.”

Annoyance and anger flaring in her eyes, Alana shoved the letter back into her coat.

“Fine,” she said. “When you speak to Will—and I know you will—tell him that I love him. And that he owes me more than to vanish without a goodbye.”

Hannibal didn’t respond and she was already storming back out through the foyer, slamming the door behind her before Hannibal could properly see her out. He reflected for a moment on the fact that she was a very intriguing woman. Perhaps he would have enjoyed her company and her fire if she had not been an obstacle to his William.

He didn’t linger once she had gone. He turned and went back to his uncle’s office, stopping briefly by the kitchen to let his aunt know that Miss Bloom had departed. He thought of the new phone line that Tobias was having installed and could hardly contain himself at the thought of being able to speak with Will again, no matter how briefly the conversation might have to be. For now, though Will was far away, he could have him to himself without any interference from Alana Bloom and that was well worth having Will an ocean away from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I like writing from Hannibal's POV more than Will's. Hannibal is just so... inhuman. It's fun to try and slip into his mind and think like him. 
> 
> As always, all mistakes are my own. Comments and critiques are welcome! I hope you all enjoyed this.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am freaking out, guys. Freaking out. I honestly have no words for what is happening on the show right now...

_Paris – March, 1946_

After that first night exploring the city with Molly, Will’s guards had insisted that he not leave without them—Hannibal’s explicit orders, of course. He had to resort to sneaking out, which made him feel like a child, but no more than a babysitting detail would have. They always realized that he was gone before he returned and he was scolded as if he were an unruly teenager, but he didn’t mind that as much. And the sneaking around felt familiar. He had done enough of that with Hannibal.

Will wasn’t about to let his prisoner-like conditions stop his friendship with Molly. He felt a little saner and a little less like a fugitive with her. He liked to watch Molly smile. She had a lopsided, wide sort of grin that made her eyes crinkle up and the joy he could feel rolling off of her when she smiled made him feel the same dizzy rush he’d felt when he had first met her. He spent most of his time with Molly, avoiding the house that was becoming more constricting and confining by the day.

The day was warmer than the last several had been and Molly appeared to be enjoying the sunlight, her face upturned toward the sky and her eyes closed as she breathed deeply through her nose. Will just watched her, not realizing he was staring until she turned to look at him, laughing faintly.

“Everything alright, Will?”

He blinked and smiled, nodding. “Sorry. I was just thinking.”

“You do that quite a lot,” she said. “May I ask what you’re thinking about?”

Will shrugged and looked away. “Different things. Home. My family. Alana… your smile.”

“My smile!?” Molly laughed and it was louder than before, a bright, calloused sort of laugh that spoke to years of hard laughter and life experience.

Will felt his face heat, having not meant to admit that to her. He nodded awkwardly. “It’s a nice smile,” he said. “It makes me want to smile.”

She grinned wide then. “Well, you have a nice smile, too,” she informed him. “It’d probably be nicer if you used it more often.”

“Probably,” Will agreed, his voice somewhat bitter. Paris was nice and the unexpected friendship with Molly certainly helped a great deal, but he still missed New York with an ache he hadn’t thought possible. He missed Alana and Mischa and Hannibal and his aunt and uncle. He missed the familiar sights and sounds and smells of it all. Paris was beautiful, but it wasn’t home to him.

“There you go again,” Molly nudged him slightly. “Disappearing into your head. You know, Will, there is a whole world out here for you to pay attention to. You aren’t required to daydream.”

“Sorry,” Will glanced over at her, but she wasn’t looking at him any longer. She was leaning with her elbows against the table where the remains of their recent lunch still lay. Her eyes were turned up toward the sky again and Will could feel an odd sense of freedom and euphoria from her that made him want to see if he could fly.

“Now who’s lost in their mind?” he teased her gently and she blinked.

“I suppose I’m picking up your bad habits,” she said. “I was just thinking of home myself…”

“I guess we’re both missing things.”

“Mmm,” Molly hummed and her fingers started tapping restlessly against the tabletop. “But at least what you’re missing is still there for whenever you decide to go back home.”

“What do you mean?”

Molly tilted her head and studied him, indecision and doubt sweeping away the nostalgic happiness she’d been feeling a moment ago. “Maybe another time,” she said. “We’re having a good time. It’s a story for a rainy day.”

Will wanted to pry, but he still understood her need to keep things to herself. There was a sadness in her eyes that he didn’t like and maybe it was for selfish reasons, but he would much rather see her grinning at the sky.

“Another time then,” he said.

For a moment her eyes glittered. “I’ll make you a deal: I’ll tell you about it, when you tell me about what sent you here to Paris in the first place.”

“Heh,” Will smiled and shook his head. “Extortion, Miss Foster?”

“Seems fair,” Molly smiled. “You tell me the gruesome details, and I tell you.”

“I think neither of us are ever going to tell those stories to each other.”

She laughed. “So certain that you won’t trust me?”

“No,” he said. “Just certain that I don’t want you to know what happened.”

“Well,” she said, “I’m sure that you’ll change your mind eventually and I can be a very patient woman.” She slid her chair closer and put her hand over his gently. “But enough talk about secrets. It’s a beautiful day, and we’re wasting it sitting here talking. Let’s go for a walk.”

Will laced his fingers through hers and stood. “Lead the way,” he said, motioning forward. She squeezed his hand in her own and immediately dragged him off down the street, her hair falling in loose braids down her back. Will had to jog to stay in stride with her, but he didn’t mind. He could feel that euphoria and giddiness building again and for the moment he didn't want to let it go.

* * *

The sun hadn’t quite disappeared under the horizon when Will returned to the house—he could not bring himself to think of the place as “home”. One of the men was waiting for him at the door, as was expected. He was frowning at Will with an anxious expression as he watched him approach. The man’s name was Louis, but Will rarely interacted with him or his partner and didn’t really want his good mood spoiled by another angry lecture about safety.

“I know,” Will put a hand up, not meeting the man’s eyes. “I shouldn’t be going out without you because it’s dangerous and I’m taking too many risks and Hannibal won’t like it—I’m a grown man and I—“

He was cut off when Louis grabbed his wrist and yanked him into the house rather viciously.

“What are you doing!?” Will snatched his arm back, glaring at him. “What’s wrong with you?”

“You should not have left,” Louis said sternly. “Come with me. Your brother is very upset and worried.”

Will frowned, following along as Louis made his way quickly up the stairs just to the left of the entrance. “What do you mean my brother’s worried? What’s going on?”

“He is waiting to speak with you. On the telephone. He wanted to make sure that you were doing well, but when I went to get you from the library you were gone.” Louis turned accusing eyes on him. “You are lucky that you returned when you did. He has not been waiting very long.”

Blinking, Will continued to stumble along behind him.

“He’s on the phone right now?” a bubble of excitement was working itself into his chest. Hannibal hadn’t mentioned being able to phone. “Where’s the phone?”

“In the study,” Louis said. “We must hurry. He’s been waiting for several—“

Will didn’t hear the rest of his sentence. He was already brushing past Louis and heading to the study as quickly as his feet would carry him without falling down the stairs. The study door was open and he bust inside, finding his other protector there, speaking into the receiver quietly.

“Oh! Here he is!” he said as soon as he spotted Will. Will didn’t wait for him to offer him the receiver; he snatched it quickly from his hands and turned his back to him. He hear the man—Victor—muttering under his breath about how rude he was, but he didn’t care.

“Hannibal? Are you there?”

“William!” Hannibal sounded as happy as Will was and he smiled broadly. “It’s wonderful to be able to hear your voice again, distorted though it may be.”

Will laughed. “I didn’t think you’d be able to call,”

“It was not a certainty, no,” Hannibal admitted. “And I’m afraid that I will not be able to speak for very long. I was merely wanting to make sure that all was well. I hear that you have been sneaking away from your guards.”

Will sighed and sank down into the empty chair by the desk. “It’s not exactly ideal to be followed everywhere by two armed men, you know.”

“I imagine not, but this is not an ideal situation. You are in danger, Will, and I want you to be safe. Promise me that you will not leave without at least one of them with you?”

Will had absolutely no intention of making such a promise, but considering Hannibal was thousands of miles away, he also knew that there was little his brother could do to enforce the promise.

“I’ll try,” he hedged. “Only if you promise to take care of yourself too.”

“I always do,” he could hear the smile in Hannibal’s voice.

“How is everyone? Uncle Robert, is he—“

“He is home. He’s still quite ill and confined to bed, but he is doing far better than he was when you last saw him. He’s anxious to have you home as well.”

“That’s great,” Will felt a pang of loneliness hit him. “I’m assuming that there’s still going to be a long time before I’ll be able to return?”

“Unfortunately, yes. The police are still very much insistent on finding Captain McCluskey’s killer and the other Families are not going to accept any peaceful resolution until they do.”

Will sighed and pressed his fingers into his eyes until he saw spots.

“What about Alana? Have you spoken to her? Did you give her my letter?”

There was a hesitation on the other end of the phone and Will tensed. “Is everything all right? Is Alana okay? She isn’t hurt is she?”

“Miss Bloom is fine,” Hannibal assured him. “She was quite upset about your departure, however. She came by just the other day to pass along a letter for you. Unfortunately I could not send it to you considering our current circumstances.”

“Did you read it? What did it say? What did she say?”

“Will, calm down,” Hannibal was speaking slowly and using that calm, patronizing sort of tine that he always used when he was about to tell him something that he knew was going to hurt him. “Alana is perfectly alright, but she appears to be very upset. I am not sure what she wrote in her letter, I felt it would have been imprudent to read it.”

Will swallowed and closed his eyes. “Why is she upset?”

“Her fiancé suddenly left and has not spoken to her in months,” Hannibal said gently. “Any woman, even the most understanding, would be upset by such a thing. She misses you, Will. I tried to calm her down, to explain that she merely needs to be patient, but she did not want to listen.”

“Does—does she know? About—about why I left? Did you tell her?” Will wasn’t even sure which answer he wanted to hear the most. He didn’t want Alana to know the truth, but he didn’t want to lie to her. He hated to think of what she would do if she believed that he was a murdered. He _was_ a murderer. He hated to think of the fear and the disappointment that he would see on her face if she knew what he had done.

“I did not tell her,” Hannibal said, “but I believe that she suspects. She mentioned the murders and the police investigation, but I told her that they were not true.”

“Okay,” he said, more to himself than to Hannibal. “Okay then. When—if you see her again, tell her that I love her? Tell her that I’m sorry.”

“I will,” Hannibal promised.

“And everyone else,” Will added. “Mischa and Aunt Theresa and Uncle Robert. I miss them. I miss you…”

“We miss you as well,” Hannibal said. “I know how badly you want to return home. I promise that I will make that happen as quickly as I am capable of.”

“I know you will,” Will said. “You always do what you say you’ll do.”

“I do. I have to go now, but I’ll call you again as soon as I am able, Will. Perhaps I’ll have a message from Alana to pass along as well. Goodbye. And take care of yourself.”

The click at the other end of the line seemed oddly final and Will set the receiver down and leaned back in the chair. Hearing Hannibal’s voice had been a horrible reminder of all the things that he was missing back home and he didn’t want to sit there and dwell on those things. He sat there for a moment longer before forcing himself to stand up and head back to his bedroom. It was early, but he felt suddenly exhausted and all he wanted to do was sleep and dream of being home with Alana in his arms, or of seeing his uncle healthy again. Or of walking in the barely-spring warmth of Paris with Molly’s hand in his…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure how I feel about this chapter... It feels oddly "meh"...
> 
> As always, all mistakes are my own. Comments and critiques are welcome!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going to explode waiting for the new episode! My mind is seriously frayed at the moment... Oh my god...

_New York – June, 1946_

The streets of New York were rivers of blood—at least, if one believed the papers they were. Hannibal scanned the headlines with a faint sneer on his face. The sensationalism of the stories was becoming ridiculous. It wasn’t as if they were killing civilians! They were keeping the war contained rather well, he thought, which was admirable of them all. And yet the papers were all splashed with photos of dead bodies lying by sewers or splayed out near the docks, filled with bold warnings of the dangers of the Mafia and the need for police intervention.

There was little about McCluskey. Their people had run stories for weeks about McCluskey’s corruption, but the war was getting them far more press than the story of the crooked police captain who had helped to start the whole thing. Hannibal made a mental note to talk to Tobias about getting more attention on the McCluskey story—the police’s search for the captain’s killer had not waned, though their attention was diverted somewhat with the war. One thing Hannibal did have to admit: the streets were not rivers of blood, but they were littered with the dead nonetheless.

A soft tap at the door made him look up.

“Yes?”

Mischa stuck her head in, smiling at him. “Aunt Theresa said you were working,” she said as she entered. “I was hoping I might distract you.”

Smiling, Hannibal lay the paper aside and leaned back in his seat. He had seen very little of Mischa since the start of the war—she and her husband had moved out to their city apartment and he was so busy with Family business that he had little time for _family_.

“I am quite busy,” he told her. “I’m expecting Abel to return tonight with news and I really must speak with Tobias as soon as he returns.”

Mischa eyed him with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes—it was one Hannibal recognized well. Will had taught her that look and Hannibal had never stopped hating him for it.

“You work too hard,” she said, moving to perch just at the end of their uncle’s desk, her eyes wide and earnest. “I’m sure they can survive an evening without you to tell them what to do. Besides, it’s been months since I’ve been able to spend time with you! You’re always locked in here or in the city apartment meeting with some important someone.”

“It’s unavoidable,” Hannibal said. “The war is damaging our profits—we’re unable to do much business when our employees are dying and our gambling houses are being shut down by over-zealous officers out for revenge.”

Mischa crossed her arms and very nearly pouted, which should really not have looked as adorable as it did on her youthful face.

“Hannibal, you don’t even eat dinner with us! I don’t get to see Will and now I’m losing you as well. Who was it who always said that family is important? It was you, wasn’t it? You cannot possibly expect me to sit by and lose both of my brothers—especially when one of them is right in front of me and simply won’t put his work aside for an evening to go out with his sister!”

Hannibal sighed and watched her fondly. “What about your husband? Surely you should be spending time with him?”

Mischa waved her hand dismissively. “I see him all the time. It’s you I don’t get to see.” She reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, looking him in the eye. “Please, Hannibal. You would make me very happy if you would come with me.”

Mischa was perhaps the only person apart from Will who could win an argument with him—and oftentimes Mischa won more arguments than Will ever could. Standing, Hannibal lifted his coat from the chair where he had carefully left it and smiled at her.

“One evening,” he said. “I cannot afford to spend too much time away.”

Mischa grinned brightly and jumped up, kissing him on the cheek. “Wonderful! I’ll bring the car around!”

She was out the door immediately and Hannibal could hear her feet running down the halls. He smiled and shook his head. It was perhaps one of his few weaknesses that he couldn’t say no to his little sister, but he didn’t mind. She was care-free and intelligent and no one Hannibal knew took such joy out of life, even in the darkest of time. He slipped his coat on and followed her running footsteps to the door, stopping to let his aunt know where they would be before leaving.

* * *

The restaurant was bright and the babbling voices all around served as soothing background noise. It had been a while since Hannibal had been out of the house to do anything other than business and he had to admit that it did feel good to be doing something that wasn’t tied to the Family Business. His mind was still working on issues, of course—Dolarhyde had insisted just a few days earlier that he intended to kill Bruno Tattaliga personally after two of Bruno’s men had taken shots at him and he had been forced to suffer through a very painful bullet removal. The wounds would heal--especially in Dolarhyde's case, who saw the shots as more a personal attack than anything else--but Dolarhyde did not let things go idly. It was why his loyalty to the Lecter Family was so important.

He thought about the meeting with Abel that he was supposed to have sometime in the next few hours. Gideon had reported losing several men in the last few weeks and they needed more button-men if they were going to keep up with the demands of the war. Being outnumbered by the other four Families was depleting their forces rather quickly. Not to mention that the police had shut down another of their operations just the previous night—they were quickly losing revenue and their profit margin was shrinking. Soon they would be able to make no money at all. Granted, the other Families were suffering a sharp decline in business as well, but they were pooling their resources, which Hannibal did not have the luxury of doing. It was frustrating.

“You can’t sit there and think about the war,” Mischa said, leaning forward and making eye contact with her brother. “I know that look, Hannibal. Stop it. We are out to get you away from that all for a few hours. Tobias can handle anything that comes up while we’re here and you can put the fires out when we get back. I’m sure that everything is fine.”

“I apologize,” he said. “There is just so much that I have to think about, Mischa. I will try not to think about it so much. Perhaps we should talk about you. How is your husband?”

Mischa laughed faintly. “Hannibal it’s been nearly a year since the wedding. You can call him by his name!”

Hannibal made a face—it was faint, but his mouth tightened and his eyes narrowed and most wouldn’t have been able to detect the change in his features.

“I know you don’t like him very much, but he _is_ my husband,” she said. “Can you at least give him the courtesy of his first name?”

“Mason then,” Hannibal nodded. The name tasted like ash on his tongue. Hannibal would have preferred Mischa remain unwed for her entire life than to see her married to him. “How is he?”

“Doing well,” Mischa nodded. “He wants to get away from the city for the summer. He thinks that it will do use some good to get away from all the bloodshed.”

Hannibal shook his head, frowning. “I don’t like the idea of you being so far away.”

“I am a grown woman, you know,” she said brightly, laughing a bit. “I can go places with my husband if I want. Besides, we’d just be going to Vermont; it’s not that far away and he hasn’t seen his parents or sister since the wedding. He wants to visit them!”

“Then I suggest that he make the trip alone,” Hannibal's voice had taken on a slightly sterner edge than usual and Mischa made a face at him. She leaned across the table and put a hand on his arm, smiling faintly.

“Hannibal, you are my brother and I love you very much, but you cannot order me around as if I’m a child. If Mason and I decide to go to Vermont for a few weeks then we will and there is not a thing that you can do to stop us.”

A spike of fury rushed through Hannibal’s veins, but he held it in tightly. He would have to speak to Mason about this as soon as possible. He was not going to allow Mischa to be so far out of his sight, especially with the on-going war. He already had to deal with Will being an ocean away; that was enough of a burden for him to bear at  the moment.

Mischa sat back and sighed. “I know how you worry, but you really shouldn’t. Mason’s family is quite nice. You remember them.”

Hannibal did remember them—the elder Mr. and Mrs. Verger were the epitome of upper-class wealth and old money. He did not like them. They reeked of assumed superiority and arrogance just as their son did. It was vile to watch them looking around at his family and Mischa’s guests and think themselves better. His uncle came by his wealth with, perhaps, unethical means, but he was a good man. Mr. Verger was simply rotten to the core.

He didn’t remember the sister though—he was certain that there had been no Verger sibling at the wedding.

“I’m afraid I don’t recall his sister…”

“Oh!” Mischa blinked. “That’s right! Margot couldn’t make it to the wedding. Poor thing was laid up at home, ill. Mason was so worried about her. He did talk about her a great deal—he’s very protective of her.”

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, but Mischa didn’t appear to notice. “A bit like you, actually. But he doesn’t force his sister to remain within his sight at all times.” She raised a brow pointedly and Hannibal took a deep breath to steady the anger and annoyance he was feeling—it was directed at his sister’s husband, not her.

“Perhaps,” he inclined his head. “But I do worry about you, especially with everything that’s happening.”

“And wouldn’t it be better if I were to get away from the city while there are men being killed in the street?” she questioned.

There was a certain logic to that, he had to admit. He still wanted her nowhere near that farm in Vermont though.

“I suppose you are right,” he admitted, through gritted teeth. Mischa beamed at him and reached for her wine glass, taking a sip. It was then that Hannibal noticed it—a faint, nearly healed bruise just on the inside of her upper arm, nearly concealed by her modest dress. His nostrils flared and he caught Mischa’s wrist before she could set the glass back on the table.

“Hannibal, what—“

“What is that?” He nodded pointedly toward the bruise and Mischa blinked, jerking her arm away from him.

“It’s nothing, Hannibal,” she said sternly. “I’m fine.”

Hannibal’s eyes blazed. “Mischa—“

“I’m _fine_ ,” she repeated. “I bumped myself a few days ago, that’s all. It’s just a little bruise.” She smiled at him, but it felt false and her eyes were hard and flat as they bore into his.

He sat back in his seat, but didn’t take his eyes off the bruise. He didn’t believe for one moment that she had accidently gotten such a mark. There was only one person he could think of who could possibly have put it there and his blood was once again boiling at the very thought of it. Mason Verger was going to suffer for daring to lay a hand on his sister.

* * *

That night, Hannibal returned home alone. He sat through his meeting with Abel and talked with Tobias about finding new places to set up their gambling houses where people would feel safe from the police. He tried to discourage Dolarhyde from doing anything reckless against Bruno Tattaliga and felt he had had mild success. He spoke with his uncle about the state of the war and assured him that they would bring Will home as soon as possible.

And then he went back to his uncle’s office and he sat in the darkness beside the fire, his mind consumed with thoughts of his sister and the bruise he had seen on her arm. Were there other bruises to match? How often did this happen? When had this started? Certainly it was after they were married—Hannibal would have noticed if it had been going on during their courtship and he would have put an end to it immediately. Mason Verger would not be breathing at that moment if he had been brutalizing his sister for such a long time. He wasn’t likely to be breathing much longer anyhow.

He wasn’t certain how to approach this issue—he desperately wanted to kill the man himself, but he knew it was far better if he had someone else do it. It would devastate Mischa either way, that was certain, but he was willing to pay that price to keep her safe and away from that disgusting excuse of a man.

He went to bed late that night, his thoughts still revolving around Mason and murder and all the ways in which he wanted to make sure that he paid for his transgressions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally did not intend to include Margot Verger. But after seeing her on "Hannibal" I'm actually rethinking that idea... I really like their interpretation of her... Still not decided. 
> 
> Anyway. All mistakes are my own, as always. Comments and critique are welcome!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I might have to start keeping towels ready to clean up my brains after my head explodes... These episodes are killing me.

_Paris – June, 1946_

_Bang. A fount of blood erupted from Chilton’s skull—he could see the individual drops, the spray of brain and bone as it flew from the gaping maw of the bullet wound. He could see the instant that Chilton ceased to be alive. His eyes glazed over, his mouth hanging open, his entire body going awkwardly limp and falling with a careless motion that only the truly dead could manage._

_An instant later, he found himself turning to run, the gun gone from his grip. Blood clung to his hands, thick and sticky and warm. He could feel it sliding under his fingernails and into his very skin. He would never be able to get rid of it._

_He rushed out into the freezing air outside and came to a sudden stop—Alana was there, staring at him. Her eyes were on the blood on his hands and he stammered to explain, but she simply shook her head and tears fell down her cheeks._

_He felt heat at his back and suddenly strong, familiar arms were wrapped around him and Hannibal’s familiar voice purred in his ear, ruffling his hair._

_“It’s alright, Will, I’ve got you. I’ll take care of you.”_

_He jerked out of the grip and turned to face him, but recoiled immediately—Hannibal was gaping at him with a bloody mouth, his face slashed open and his eyes gone, nothing left but gaping, cavernous pits of eternal darkness. He reached his hand toward Will, but as it moved closer the flesh melted away to reveal nothing but gleaming white bones like horrific talons. They latched into his shirt and pulled him closer and suddenly that awful, ripped mouth was pressed against his and he felt vicious teeth sinking into his lips, ripping and tearing at his skin. The copper tang of blood flooded his mouth and he screamed._

He jerked awake, panting, and looked around the dark room blearily. Throwing the blankets back, Will stumbled to his feet, his entire body drenched in sweat and shaking so badly that he could hardly stand. He pushed a hand through his damp hair and squeezed his eyes shut. He was an old hand at nightmares. He’d had enough of them after the war to know how to deal with them. He just had to ride out the shakes until his breathing returned to normal.

He pushed himself into a sitting position on the edge of the bed and put his twitching hands on his knees. He could still see Chilton’s dead eyes and Alana’s accusing stare and he shivered at the grotesque image of his brother that wouldn’t leave his mind. His nails dug into his knees and he forced his shuddering breaths to slow to a more even pace.

Several minutes went by before he felt able to stand. Once he could, he did the first thing he could think to do—he reached for his trousers and his coat and threw them on, ambling down the stairs as quickly and quietly as he could, making his way out the door.

The night air was warm and humid. It did little to help his already sweat-dampened state, but it eased his mind considerably. The frigid air from the dream suddenly seemed a distant memory and his chest loosened just a bit. Without thinking too much on what he was doing, he made his way along the familiar paths he’d walked with Molly and forced himself to think of something else.

His mind swirled with images—Alana kissing him at Mischa’s wedding, Hannibal’s concerned face after he’d woken in the hospital, Uncle Robert’s frail body lying in a hospital bed, Frederick Chilton’s body leaking blood onto the restaurant floor, Molly grinning a lopsided grin at him before grasping his hand in her own…

He latched onto that last image and did his best to keep it in the front of his mind—Molly was separate from all of the horrible things in his past and his family. She didn’t know about what he had done. He thought about her boldness and her bright eyes, her rumbling laugh. Gradually, he felt his heart slowing down as the lingering effects of his nightmare faded.

He could hear Molly’s voice in his mind, gently prodding him out of his daydreams. It was clear enough that he was almost convinced that she was there, but he’d always had an overly heightened imagination. Still, he allowed himself to enjoy it. Molly laughing at something he’d said, telling him some story about her life back in London, trying to get him to talk about New York.

“Will?”

He could feel her warmth and her energy, her emotions always genuine and honest. He imagined the feel of her fingers around his, her elbow nudging him gently when he wasn’t pay attention.

“Will are you alright?”

He blinked and turned around, jerked out of his thoughts by a familiar hand on his shoulder and a familiar voice pulling at his mind.

“Molly?”

She was standing there, smiling awkwardly at him with a concerned expression.

“Are you alright?” she repeated.

“Yeah, yeah,” Will shoved his fingers through his hair, staring at her like he was seeing a ghost. “Sorry. I didn’t hear you. What are you doing out so late?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” she shrugged. “Thought a bit of a walk might do me some good. What about you?”

“Uh… same,” he said. He was looking around wildly, feeling suddenly wrong-footed. His eyes skirted over Molly three times before she reached out—cautiously—and touched his cheek, slowly guiding his gaze toward her.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You seem a bit… distressed.”

“Nightmare,” Will bit the word out and forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. Molly eyed him sympathetically and Will realized slowly that her fingers were still resting lightly on his face. She quickly cleared her throat and stepped back.

“I know a thing or two about nightmares,” she said. She held out her arm and waited for Will to realize that she wanted him to take it before smiling at him. “C’mon, I’ve got some wine at my place and you look like you could use a drink or two.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face before nodding—more a twitch of his head than an actual nod. He took her arm and smiled again.

“Lead the way,”

* * *

The wine helped a lot. Will felt warmer and steadier once he’d gotten a few sips in him. Molly watched him with hooded eyes as she sipped her own glass. He had never been inside of Molly’s home before—or, more accurately, Molly’s cousin’s home—and found it very comfortable. It was warm inside, but not muggy like the air outside had been. She’d led him to a small sitting room and poured the wine while he settled into a comfortable chair near a dark fireplace.

“So,” Molly tilted her head. “What sort of nightmare would send you running outside? The war?” She asked it carefully, but didn’t dance around the subject like some people might have. Will found he appreciated that at the moment.

He shook his head. “No,” he said. He stared down into his glass and then looked back up, meeting her eyes for a moment and feeling her boldness seep out into him. Maybe it was the wine, or the nightmare, or the fact that he suddenly felt bone tired, but the lines between her and him seemed to blur.

“I’d have rather dreamed about the war,” he admitted. “At least what I did there I did for a worthy cause.”

“Ah,” Molly nodded. “This is about that complicated secret you can’t talk about.”

“Yeah,” he sighed and looked away from her, staring around the unfamiliar room.

“I’ve only known you for a short time, but honestly, Will, I can’t imagine you doing anything so bad that you couldn’t talk about it. Especially not without good reasons behind it.”

His laugh was bitter and he turned to look at her again. “It’s bad,” he told her. “And not something I can excuse or pretend had good intentions, not really.” He stared at his hands.

Molly crossed her legs and eyes him curiously. “You could tell me and let me decide whether or not you’re right. I’ve found that oftentimes people don’t see themselves as clearly as they believe.”

“I think I see myself a little too clearly,” Will said. “Besides, I’ve already lost my fiancée because of this. I don’t want to lose my one friend here, too.”

“Alana left you?” Molly sounded shocked.

“Not… not technically. I haven’t spoken to her, but she suspects what happened and there’s no way she can forgive me for it. She’s already given up on trying to talk to me.”

“Maybe that’s because you haven’t talked to her,” Molly suggested.

He shook his head. “She thinks that I did something that you can’t just forget about. Something horrible and… she’s right. And even if she didn’t suspect it already, how can I go home and look her in the eye and pretend to be who I was before. I’d be lying to her for the rest of our lives.”

“Or,” Molly said, “and this is just me making wild suggestions—you could tell her the truth. See where things go from there. You can’t be sure until you do.”

It sounded like a perfectly logical plan when she put it that way, but all Will could see was the look of horror and betrayal on Alana’s face in his dream. She wouldn’t forgive him. She would never be able to see past it. He couldn’t blame her for that either, because she shouldn’t _have_ to forgive him for the murders, for lying to her and running away without a proper goodbye. She deserved better than him. He was selfish enough to not want to let her go, but he still understood that it would be the right thing if he did.

Molly might have a point, but she didn’t know what he had done either. She didn’t deserve being lied to any more than Alana did.

“I shot two men in cold blood,” he said, bluntly.

He wasn’t sure what he was hoping for. To shock her, to scare her, to make her see that this wasn’t something that could be neatly swept away and forgotten. He didn’t get any of that. Beyond a widening of her eyes and a sharp spike of fear that settled quickly, Molly didn’t react at all.

She stared at him unblinkingly and asked, “Why?”

He spluttered. “ _Why?_ ”

“Well you don’t just wake up one morning and decided to shoot two men, do you?” she asked pointedly.

“Well, no, but—“

“Then why did you do it? There must have been a reason.”

“They were—the reason doesn’t matter,” Will said. “What matters is that I did it.”

Molly looked somewhat aggravated. “Will, the reason _always_ matters. It’s a horrible thing to take a life, but motives are also important. People murder for a lot of reasons. Why did you?”

His shoulders slumped at he stared at her. “Because I had to. They tried to kill my uncle; they were threatening my family.”

Molly’s lips quirked up into a tiny smile. “That is one of the better reasons for killing someone,” she said. “You were protecting your family.”

“I still killed two men,” Will said. “Two men I barely knew. I had no right.”

“No,” Molly agreed. “You didn’t. But that doesn’t change the fact that you killed them, and you killed them because you were protecting people that you love. I understand why you feel guilty about it, but it is not the most horrible thing you could have done, Will.”

“How can you say that?” Will stared at her incredulously.

“Because you’re a good man,” Molly told him. “Because you feel guilty about what you did. You killed people during the war.”

“That was different,”

“Not by much,” Molly said.

“And you barely know me,” Will said. “How do you know that I’m a good man?”

Molly laughed. “I’ve spent that last few months with you. I might not have known you for a long time, but you are a good person and anyone can see that. You care about people, you’re funny and warm and nice and I like you. So you can’t be as bad as you seem to believe.”

Will smiled a bit, but shook his head. He wanted to tell her that she was wrong, that he was not the good person that she seemed to assume, but the words didn’t come. He felt warmth spreading through him at her words. It felt nice to have someone who had such faith in him, who could see the best in him even if it wasn’t even there.

Molly watched him with bright eyes and a wide smile.

“You’re a good man, Will Graham. Don’t let anything make you think otherwise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter started out how I wanted... and then veered off course a bit. I hope it's alright, considering this wasn't the original plan.
> 
> As always, comments and critque are welcome! Please let me know what you thought!!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The finale is tonight, guys. _The finale is tonight!_
> 
> I am terrified and excited.

_New York – July, 1946_

Hannibal adjusted the cuffs of his suit jacket carefully, his eyes traveling around the room with quiet disinterest. The apartment was large and well-furnished, but a bit ostentatious for Hannibal’s tastes—loud crystal figures, overstuffed furniture, shining wooden tables, and artwork that he could only describe as garish decorated the room. He couldn’t help but think it was a blatant and classless display of wealth and was once more reminded of the fact that the Vergers really should have handled their fortune more tastefully. He wasn’t fond of subjecting himself to Mason’s particular brand of arrogant showing-off.

It had been nearly three weeks since his dinner with Mischa and he had yet to decide on the best way to approach Mason. Murder, while certainly appealing, would be too rash. Mischa would never forgive him if he killed her husband. He was still not entirely settled on a course of action, but Mischa had called that morning to tell him that she and Mason were going to Vermont for a few days after all and he knew he needed to act before she left.

“Ah, Hannibal,” Mason grinned at him as he entered the living room. He was carrying two crystal glasses filled with a soft amber liquid. Hannibal accepted the offered glass with the barest hint of a smile. “I was surprised to hear you had stopped by; Mischa says you’re very busy with the family business lately.”

Technically, Mason did not know where the Lecter family’s wealth really came from, but he was as privy to the rumors that the papers printed as everyone else—perhaps even more so given his marriage to Mischa. His eyes sparkled hungrily as he stared at Hannibal and Hannibal shifted on his feet, turning a cold look over his brother-in-law. Mason wanted in on the Family business and he persistently tried to get Hannibal to give him a chance; Hannibal had so far managed to doge him at every turn, mostly by avoiding being anywhere near Mason Verger.

“Please, sit down,” Mason motioned to one of the chairs beside him and sat down himself on a very plush looking sofa, placing his glass down on the table carelessly.

Hannibal shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t stay long, I merely wanted to stop by briefly to speak with you about your trip to Vermont.”

“Ah. Yes, Mischa is looking forward to seeing my parents—she hasn’t really gotten the chance to know my family since the wedding.”

Hannibal had to fight the sneer that threatened to form on his face. “Yes, well. I know it’s not entirely my place, but Mischa is my sister and I worry about her safety. I don’t think it’s a good idea to take her so far from New York while our uncle is still recovering from his injuries last December.”

Mason leaned forward. “But that’s precisely why we’re going! The city doesn’t feel safe right now, not with all these gangsters shooting each other in the streets like savages. The farm is safer, quieter. Surely you can see the logic in removing Mischa from such a hostile environment, at least for a little while.”

Jaw flexing, Hannibal stared at Mason and ignored the obvious jab at him and his family.

“I’m afraid I disagree,” he said. “I would be able to rest better at night if Mischa were to remain in the city. I would honestly prefer if you and Mischa were to return to the mall and stay in one of the houses close by, but I don’t want either of you to feel as if you are prisoners. I simply want to have Mischa close by, so that I may protect her.”

“ _I_ can protect her,” Mason insisted. He had grabbed his glass from the table and was dangling it in a loose grip between spread knees. The glass hung precariously at his fingertips and Hannibal watched it, wondering what Mason would do if he dropped it. He had yet to take a drink.

He very slowly turned his gaze from the glass to Mason’s face and fixed him with a cold, reptilian stare. Mason shifted uncomfortably under the weight of it for a moment and Hannibal carefully tilted his head to the side just a fraction.

“As you have been protecting her? Giving her bruises you hope no one will notice?”

Hannibal didn’t raise his voice as he spoke, keeping his tone flat, with that same cold disinterest that made his eyes seem so very snake-like. Mason’s grip on his glass tightened for a second and he went very still, frozen for a moment.

Then he broke out into a bright grin and sat the glass back down on the table.

“Come on, Hannibal, you said yourself, it’s not your place to interfere. Mischa is _my_ wife. Besides, I’m hardly doing her irreparable damage. A few bruises aren’t going to hurt her.” He stood and cocked his head, matching Hannibal posture. “We’re going to Vermont. You can’t stop me and I doubt Mischa would appreciate knowing her brother was trying to control her marriage like this.”

Hannibal said nothing at first, simply watching Mason with lazy contempt. Then he stepped closer and sat his own untouched glass on the table. He straightened his cuffs once more, carefully keeping his eyes away from Mason. Then, slowly, he looked up and met his gaze.

“What you do in your marriage is your business, Mason. I cannot stop you from going to Vermont if you wish to and I cannot stop Mischa from accompanying you.”

Mason grinned wider, victorious, but Hannibal continued speaking.

“However—and you’ll forgive me for the indelicate phrasing—if I ever see another bruise on my sister, I do not care if she mere stumbled in the street, I will kill you.”

Mason blinked, staring at him. He burst into laughter, but it died quickly when he saw Hannibal’s unmoving expression.

“You can’t threaten me, Hannibal. You wouldn’t make your sister a widow.”

Hannibal lips twitched, his eyes crinkling just slightly.

“I would rather see her a widow than married to you. I do not make idle threats, Mason. I suggest you keep that in mind. Now, I apologize for cutting our conversation short, but I have other business to attend to. Have a good afternoon.”

He smiled wider at Mason’s incredulous expression and turned to leave without waiting for Mason to show him out. It wasn’t his ideal way of handling the situation, but if Mason knew what was good for him he would heed his warning and keep his hands off of his sister.

* * *

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard from Alana recently?” Will sounded resigned over the phone, which Hannibal counted as a small victory—though Will was still asking about Alana, he seemed to have become convinced that she was no longer willing to bother with trying to communicate with him. In fact, Alana had not been back to the Lecter home and had not phoned since her last rater angry visit.

“I’m afraid not,” Hannibal said. “I’m sorry, Will. Perhaps she just needs time.”

Will scoffed. “And perhaps she’s intelligent enough to realize that marrying a man who murdered two people is not the best thing for her.”

“Will,” Hannibal sighed and shook his head. He had tried numerous times to warn Will to be careful exactly how he spoke on the phone. Though the line was secure, Hannibal worried about taps, especially with FBI agents like Crawford still very interested in the Family.

“Sorry,” Will muttered. If Hannibal closed his eyes, he could imagine Will sitting down in a cluttered study, his shoulders hunched and his eyes turned toward the ground or studying the walls. “I just… I just miss her, that’s all.”

Jealousy spiked through Hannibal, but he held it in check. “I understand. All is not lost yet, Will. You may be able to salvage your relationship with her when you return home.”

Will laughed, a harsh and incredulous sound. “And when will that be? Another month? Five? A year?”

“We are doing as much as we can,” Hannibal told him. “I warned you before you ever agreed to this that you would have to be gone for quite a long time. If I could have you return home safely right now, I would. It’s simply impossible.”

“I know,” Will said. “I know. I’m sorry, I just… I feel homesick. And the nightmares aren’t helping. I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have Molly…”

Hannibal’s lips pressed together. “Molly?”

“Oh…” Will paused and Hannibal could almost see the awkward smile on his face when he continued speaking. “I haven’t told you about her?”

“I don’t recall you mentioning her, no,”

“She’s just this woman I met, not long after I got here. She’s a good friend.”

“Friend?” Hannibal questioned.

Will huffed. “Hannibal. Stop. She’s a friend. She was in the SOE, during the war. We eat lunch together and walk around the city, talk about our lives.”

“Hm,” Hannibal frowned. “How much about your life have you told her, Will?”

There was a long pause on the other end and Hannibal felt a twist of worry seep into his gut. “William? How much have you told her?”

“…Nearly everything. I mean—not everything. Not really. Just… Just about Alana. About why I left. I didn’t tell her about anything in detail, but I just—“ He was stuttering and stumbling, talking too fast and trying to defend himself.

“Will, do you realize how dangerous that is? What if she tells someone? If she starts talking to others about you word could travel back to the other Families and if they find you they’ll kill you!”

“Molly wouldn’t talk,” Will insisted. “She hasn’t. She’s… I trust her, Hannibal. She wouldn’t tell anyone. She doesn’t even have anyone to tell, really. We spend most of our time together, usually.”

Another spike of jealousy, though perhaps not as strong as earlier. “You barely know this woman,” Hannibal said. “How can you possibly trust her?”

“I know enough,” Will said. “I know she heard what I did and she didn’t run away, even though it scared her. I know she thinks that I’m still a good person because of it. I know she makes me feel less homesick. She’s a good person, Hannibal. A good friend.”

Hannibal sighed. “I suppose that is important. You really need to exercise more caution, Will. It won’t help us to get you home safely if you are putting yourself at greater risk by exposing yourself to people who could harm you.”

“I can take care of myself,” Will said. “I’m not a child.”

Hannibal laughed gently, reminded immediately of Mischa and her protests against his protection. He could not father where either of them got the idea that they would convince him not to worry about them and do everything within his power to keep them safe from harm.

“But you are my brother and I will always worry about you,” Hannibal said. Will made a small noise of annoyance, but said nothing. There was silence that stretched on for a long moment and then Will finally spoke again, sounding oddly timid and anxious.

“Hannibal…” he stopped and took a deep breath before continuing. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” Hannibal said. “But you’ve already said that. Is something wrong?”

“Not… wrong isn’t the right word, it’s just… These nightmares I’m having…” he hesitated and Hannibal frowned, not liking the way the younger man’s voice quavered.

“Yes?”

“Never mind,” Will said. “It’s not important. They’re just nightmares.” There was another long pause and Hannibal considered pressing the issue and forcing Will to tell him what was wrong, but Will spoke before he could decide whether that would be beneficial or not.

“How’s Uncle Robert?”

“He’s well,” Hannibal said, smiling just a bit. “He’s out of bed more. Mischa and Aunt Theresa have been taking him out to the garden in the afternoons so that he can get fresh air. He loathes the wheelchair, of course.”

Will laughed, the sound slightly strained, but not as harsh. “I’m not surprised. And everything else? How are you doing running everything for him?”

“It’s not the easiest job to have, but I believe I’m handling it. Mischa complains that I’m working too often.”

“Well, you were gone too often before taking over for Uncle Robert,” Will said. “You spent most of your time away at school.”

“I am hardly the only one who spent the majority of my time studying or working, Will. You were quite isolated from everyone as well. Though you always made time for me.”

Over the phone Will’s sigh sounded sadder than Hannibal would like to believe it was.

“I did…” he said. “I miss that, sometimes. Things made more sense back then, didn’t they?”

“They did,” Hannibal agreed. He felt a brief surge of happiness hearing Will admit that he missed what they had once had together. Perhaps it wouldn’t be too difficult to convince him that they could have it again once he returned. “But I suppose all good things must come to an end,”

Will hummed faintly, still sounded a bit sad. “Hardly seems fair, does it?”

“No,” Hannibal said. “It doesn’t.”

Silence. Hannibal waited almost thirty seconds before glancing up at the clock over the mantle. “I’m afraid I have to go now, Will. I’ll call again as soon as I’m able to. Take care of yourself.”

“I will. I always do. Tell everyone I miss them,”

“Of course. Goodbye, Will.”

He hung up and leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes and smiling to himself. Things weren’t quite where he wanted them to be yet, but Will seemed to be slowly letting go of Alana and he hoped that he would forget her altogether by the time he was able to return to New York. This Molly was something for him to worry about though. Will may believe they were merely friends, but their apparent closeness coupled with the fact that she was the only person he had any connection to in Paris worried him. He would have to make sure to monitor the relationship closely.

For the time being though, things were going along rather smoothly. Mason and Molly were bumps in the road that he would rather not deal with, but he was perfectly willing to do whatever it took to make sure that everything went exactly the way that it was meant to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, I can't tell if Hannibal thinks Mason is a horrible show-off because he _is_ , or if it's simply because he hates him. Methinks Hannibal is being a bit hyocritical either way, though. 
> 
> I'd prepare myself guys--it doesn't start next chapter, but things are going to start going downhill fairly quickly, very soon. 
> 
> Also, I am likely going to be out of town next and part of the week after so I wouldn't expect an update next Friday. If I am able to, I will post a chapter, but it doesn't seem very likely. I'm leaving on Wednesday and probably not going to be back until Monday or Tuesday of the following week, so. Just a head's up. 
> 
> As usual, all mistakes are my own. Comments and critiques are welcome! Let me know what you think!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaack! Sorry for the break--if it helps, I was in Georgia for the last 10 days playing with my cousin's eight month old daughter (she is so freaking cute!!). I think that's a good excuse.
> 
> Anyway, thanks so much for all of the kudos and comments and bookmarks and to everyone reading this! You guys are fantastic and I really appreciate it. 
> 
> (And ohmygod that finale... it's been a little while now and I'm still not over it. Just... ohmygod.)

_Paris – July, 1946_

“Still nothing from Alana?” Will asked the question every time Hannibal called, though he always got the same answer.

“I’m afraid not, Will,” Hannibal said. “I will let you know as soon as I hear anything from her at all, I assure you.”

Will sighed and pressed his fingers into his eyes, trying to soothe the headache he could feel pressing against his skull. He wondered if Alana was thinking about him at all anymore, or if the papers and her own intuition had done enough damage to make sure that she never thought of him again.

“How is everything in Paris?”

“Everything is… good,” Will said. “I’ve been better, lately.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Hannibal said. “You’re… friend Molly is partly to blame for this, I assume?”

Will laughed. “Don’t sound so suspicious, Hannibal. Molly is great. And yes, she is part of it. I’d probably be locked up in my bedroom drinking the nightmares away without her. It’s nice to have someone to talk to who won’t judge me.”

“I don’t judge you, Will.”

Will sighed. “You’re an ocean away. I can’t talk to you every time I want to. Molly is here, now. She listens and she talks.”

“You are taking care of yourself? Making sure that you rest and eat? Not drinking too much?”

“Hannibal,” Will huffed. “I am a grown man. I can take care of myself.”

He could almost hear the way Hannibal’s eyes would crinkle up when he smiled as he spoke. “Not in my experience. You are appallingly bad at taking care of yourself.”

Will ran a hand over his face, thinking idly that he needed to shave. “I suppose that’s another argument for why I need a wife.”

There was a moment of stiff silence and Will could almost feel Hannibal fuming.

“I know you disagree,” he said quickly, before Hannibal could say anything. “But could we please not fight about that right now? I’d rather fight in person if it’s all the same.”

Hannibal let out a breath that seemed half like a laugh. “I had no intentions of arguing with you, Will. I would prefer not to spend our limited time conversing being angry with one another.”

“Good,” Will nodded. “That’s good. I miss you. I don’t want to start yelling at you.”

“We miss you as well,” Hannibal told him. “I only wish I had better news to give you. The police attention is waning considerably. I don’t think it will be more than a few months before we are able to convince them to drop the matter of McCluskey’s death altogether. The papers have been spilling out the story of his corruption with enthusiasm these last weeks. I suppose with so few deaths in their sensationalized Mafia war, they had to do something.”

Will would have laughed, but he knew Hannibal too well to assume that that was all the news he had to tell him. “But?”

“But,” Hannibal sighed, “the other Families will likely not be appeased with the police force backing off of our businesses. They have been attacked, insulted, and worst of all have lost a great deal of money and men because of this war. They will still want blood. It will not be easy to convince them to lay down their arms.”

“Uncle Robert hasn’t been able to talk them into backing off?”

“Uncle Robert has not had much to do with the war,” Hannibal said. “He is quiet, most days. He offers advice, occasionally, but he’s still healing and isn’t well enough. I hope that this war will be over before he is able to resume his post. I don’t like to think of how he would handle the stress with his condition what it is.”

Will felt a sudden, unexpected surge of fury at Chilton. Robert Lecter was—had always been—an immoveable force in his life. A man who could not be touched, could not be harmed. To hear that someone had been able to do so much damage made his blood boil. He had to remind himself that he had killed Chilton and the anger was unjustified. Chilton had paid for his crimes and he was paying for his own. That part of this mess was done and over with, even if it felt as if he was reliving it every night in his dreams.

“I wish I could do more,”

“You’ve done quite enough,” Hannibal said. “Rest, Will. Keep yourself safe. When all of this is over with, I will bring you home and you won’t have to worry about murderers and Mafia wars ever again. It will be as it was before.”

Will scoffed. “I don’t think anything will ever be as it was before again.”

* * *

It was raining. The weather had forced them to forgo their usual afternoon walks and Will had made a snap decision to invite Molly into the house. She’d never been inside before—and aside from that one unhappy night weeks ago he hadn’t been inside her house. Molly was remarkably accepting of it all and only eyed Louis and Victor for a moment before ignoring them completely. His two bodyguards kept a respectable distance, at least, and didn’t shadow him through every room.

“So many books,” Molly said, reaching for the book shelf and pulling on thick tome down, flipping through it. “Have you read any?”

Will shook his head. “No. They’re all in French or Lithuanian and I only speak very little of either.”

Molly smiled. “I could teach you,” she said. “French, I mean. I learned it as a girl. It came in handy during the war.”

“I know enough to get by,” he said. “My brother taught me some, and I picked up a bit during the war myself.”

“Enough to get by isn’t nearly enough,” Molly said. “You’re in France, Will. You should speak the language. It’s been months; you can’t possibly tell me you haven’t learned at least a bit more.”

Will shrugged. “What reason would I have? My only friend speaks perfect English.”

She smirked and shook her head, replacing the book on the shelf. “Culture is a perfectly good reason to learn,” she said. “You can’t experience Paris fully without speaking the language.”

“I’ve been doing fine so far,”

She huffed and sat down in the desk chair, fiddling around with the papers and little figures on the desk. “You’re just trying to annoy me.”

“What’s the point in learning when I can read people’s emotions better than their words?” he asked, eyes moving away from her and toward the window. He moved across the room and parted the curtains, staring out at the rain as it pelted the glass and made the outside world blurry.

Molly raised a brow and moved to stand behind him. They stood like that in silence for what felt like several minutes, just staring out at the rain. Finally, Will pulled himself out of his thoughts and turned to face her, cocking his head to the side and narrowing his eyes in a soft smirk.

“You know,” he said. “It’s raining.”

Molly blinked and looked completely confused before her eyes lit with understanding. She smiled, but it was the sad smile she reserved for whenever she was thinking about whatever secret was too painful for her to talk about most days.

“So it is,” she said. “And I did promise that I had a story for a rainy day.”

Will nodded. “And I did tell you my complicated secret,” he said, managing to only wince a little. Molly had said nothing to him about the murders since the night he’d admitted to them. She seemed to have taken to information and stored it away somewhere where it didn’t bother her. He wished he could do the same—it would certainly help with the nightmares and the guilt.

She hesitated for only a moment before taking his hand and leading him over to the small sofa that graced one corner of the large study. They sat down next to each other and she stared straight ahead.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you, actually,” she said. Her eyes found his for a second before he jerked his gaze away. “It took a lot of trust for you to tell me about what happened in New York…” Her hands squeezed his and he squeezed back, hoping it was reassuring and supportive. He wasn’t particularly good at gauging these types of situations.

“It’s not a pleasant story, you understand? Not that yours was very pleasant…” She looked down at their joined hands and took a breath.

“I told you I left London because there were simply too many bad memories…” she said. “I suppose I’ll start there.”

She didn’t say anything and Will didn’t either, giving her the space to gather her thoughts. She rarely needed time to think or figure out how to phrase something so he knew this was important and he didn’t want to pressure her any more than he probably already had simply by asking.

“I was married,” she finally said. His eyes widened, but he remained silent, sensing that there was more. “It was before the war. I was young, he was young. We were in love. Then, of course, the war broke out. Things got ugly for a while and he joined the Army. We were separated for months at a time, didn’t get to speak at all and rarely could we write one another. It was difficult.”

Her eyes were so sad and her voice so soft. She didn’t sound anything like the Molly that he had come to know over the last several months.

“When it ended, when we were able to return home it was beautiful,” she laughed lightly and glanced over at him. “We spent days together in our little flat, just the two of us.”

Will felt blush heating his face as his mind conjured up the image of Molly and this faceless young soldier together, bodies tangled up and exhausted. He had never heard a woman say anything quite so direct, aside from Alana. Molly seemed to sense his discomfort and grinned wider at him.

“For the first few months everything was the way it was supposed to be. We were happy and together and we were going to have a family.”

She stopped and looked down, smile falling from her face. “He died,” she said bluntly, throat convulsing. “There was an accident, he was working with others, helping with reconstruction efforts and he fell.” She grimaced and closed her eyes tightly. “His head was smashed in. I didn’t even recognize him when I saw the body.”

Will slid closer to her and held her hand tighter, unsure of what to say. He tried to picture it—and he could all too clearly—but it only lasted for a moment before Molly’s faceless husband was replaced with Alana and he wondered what he would do if he ever had to see her limp body, cold with death. He shivered and forced himself to pay attention to what Molly was saying.

“After that I tried—I tried to stay, but everything reminded me of him. I didn’t know what to do with myself, so I decided I needed a whole new start. My cousin agreed to let me stay with her while I tried to figure things out and… and then I met you.”

She looked at him and smiled again. He smiled back, but it didn’t feel genuine. He could still imagine it all so perfectly: the pain, the shock, the fear. No one should have to go through that. No one deserved to lose someone they loved in such a horrible, unexpected way.

He started to tell her that he was sorry, but she would likely not appreciate it and she hadn’t told him because she wanted his pity. So he squeezed her hand and met her eyes, forcing himself not to look away this time.

“Thank you for telling me,” he said quietly. She smiled at him tightened her grip on his hand for one more second before untangling their fingers.

“His name was Nathaniel,” she said, pushing herself to her feet. “He was… he was perfect. Like your Alana seems to be perfect.”

Her eyes swam with unshed tears and she sighed heavily.

“She’s not mine,” Will said, shaking his head. “Not anymore. She’s given up on me, I’m afraid. Better for her, at least. She’ll find a man who can take care of her.” He only felt slightly bitter as he said that. He was slowly getting used to the idea that Alana likely wanted nothing to do with him anymore. So many months gone by and Hannibal had not received any phone calls, letters, or visits. She was smart, Will knew. She sensed the danger and the lost cause and got out while she could. He didn’t blame her.

Molly’s lips quirked and she shook her head.

“Well, the weather’s gloomy enough without us feeling pity for ourselves. You said this relative of yours is fairly wealthy. He must have some good Rum somewhere in this fancy house of his. Why don’t we find some and take advantage?”

Will laughed and nodded, standing and leading the way down to the dining area. The somberness of their conversation followed them downstairs, but they both pretended not to notice as they drank and talked well into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and critiques are welcome!
> 
> I'm sorry if there are an over-abundance of typos in this chapter. I just got home a few hours ago and wrote this as soon as I got here. I read over it once, but I didn't really do much proofing so if you spot mistakes let me know! I wanted to make sure that this got posted on time. I'll go back over it later to make sure I got everything fixed. Apologies!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the comments and kudos! You guys are fantastic!
> 
> Fair warning: while things do not get terribly bad here, things start going downhill after this chapter. I think the next chapter will be pretty calm given that it's going to be mostly Will and Molly, but chapter 21 (if things go according to plan) is not going to be so good.

_New York – September, 1946_

“I worry about Mischa,” Hannibal told his uncle, watching the older man. A chess board sat between them, the pieces wooden and worn with age. Robert had owned the set since before he had come to America and had refused to replace it. He only grunted at his nephew’s words, his eyes on the pieces as he contemplated his move. Hannibal took the opportunity to study him more openly than he would have otherwise dared.

Robert was looking better, but not by much. His skin was still pale and had an underlying grey tinge that worried everyone. Though he was moving about the house and garden without the aid of his wheelchair, he still needed a sturdy cane and often was accompanied by someone in case he stumbled. The bandages and stitches had been done away with weeks earlier, but the scars were still fresh looking and pink—one nearly lethal wound on his neck stood out above his collar and made Hannibal long to crush all of their enemies at the mere sight.

Robert moved a knight, capturing one of Hannibal’s pawns and then looked expectantly at his nephew, finally answering.

“You worry too much,” he told him.

“I don’t like her husband,”

“Her husband is hers to choose, Hannibal,” Robert said. “She is married now and it is not your concern what happens between them. They must deal with their problems themselves and without the help of me or you.”

Hannibal had heard the speech multiple times from Robert, but he still did not like it. Mischa was a grown woman, and married. Her life was not his business now and what her husband did to her was not his concern. But he could not look at her and see the adult Mischa—he saw his sister as a child, grinning widely with jam smeared across her face and dress, playing with the sick dog downstairs. He saw his baby sister and he did not appreciate anyone putting bruises on her.

“Uncle, I do not think that Mason is performing his duties as a husband to protect her if he’s leaving marks on her skin like what I have seen.”

Robert met his eyes and shook his head. “Has Mischa told you that there is something wrong?” Hannibal nearly faltered, and shook his head angrily. Mischa had been adamant that everything between her and Mason was fine and continued to tell him not to concern himself with her affairs.

“Then you must let it be,”

Hannibal sighed, coming as close as he dared to sounding exasperated with his uncle. Robert smiled faintly and shook his head.

“I know you want to protect her, Hannibal, but you have to let her learn for herself. When she needs you, she will come to you. Until then, you can do nothing.”

Doing nothing—particularly when it came to Mischa—was one of the few things Hannibal was spectacularly bad at. He nodded and turned his attention back to the chess board, well aware that he was losing, but too wrapped up in thoughts of how to put his family back together to really be bothered.

* * *

Tobias wore an almost perpetually grim expression these days, his eyes hard and his mouth set in a firm, stiff line. Hannibal had come to expect the look whenever he and Tobias discussed anything to do with the war—or anything at all, recently.

“The police presence is thinning,” Tobias began carefully, “but they are far from giving up. Three of Barzini’s men were arrested last night and we’re dangerously close to losing another of our gambling houses. Even with the story circulating about McCluskey’s corruption they haven’t given up on their revenge for his murder.”

Hannibal was less concerned about the police than Tobias and dismissed his worries with a shake of his head. “It will take time for them to fully accept that McCluskey was a dirty cop,” he said. “It’s to be expected that they are resistant to the idea for a time. Their lust for blood over his death will fade in time.”

Tobias was not convinced, but he didn’t argue with him. He became more and more certain with each day that the Lecter Family was headed for ruin and Hannibal became more and more certain of the opposite.

“The other Families still aren’t willing to talk,” Tobias said. “Of course, that I am not surprised about. They’re starting to rebuild some of their business, but it’s risky and they aren’t taking in as much profit as they are used to. When and _if_ the police back off from their vendetta I’m sure that they will be more agreeable to discuss peace.”

“I suspect as much,” Hannibal nodded. “I don’t think it will be more than six months, perhaps another year if we are very unlucky, before the police lose the fire for their campaign against us.”

“For our sake I hope we don’t have to wait another year,” Tobias said. “This war isn’t just costing us business. Most of your uncle’s political contacts are being alienated as well. The old man might be able to get them back once the police back down and the fighting stops, but every day that passes is another day for them to distance themselves from our Family. We have to tread carefully.”

Hannibal was unsurprised, but worried about the state of his uncle’s political contacts. Senators and congressmen were invaluable allies and tools in keeping their businesses running smoothly and without police interference. They had already lost the men within the police department after McCluskey’s murder and the others were not willing to risk being associated with cop killers. Perhaps if Robert had still been in control of the Family they could be persuaded to assist them, but they did not know Hannibal and even with his intelligence and charm, they did not trust him. He was new and too young and with the bloodshed that had already passed they were more than a little wary.

“Uncle Robert will have to deal with them,” he said. “We may well have permanently lost their support and that will cripple us considerably in the future, but there is nothing we can do about that at the moment. We have other things to deal with.”

Tobias nodded. “The FBI is still snooping around. Specifically that Agent Crawford fellow. He hasn’t found much—certainly nothing he can use—but I don’t like how closely he’s looking. The FBI usually keep their distance from us. They can’t do anything without proper evidence and everything is speculation and hearsay at the moment.”

Pursing his lips, Hannibal leaned forward. He thought back to Agent Crawford. It had been quite a while since he had spoken to the man and he had heard very little from him or about him since then. He knew that there was little they could do about his digging—killing a dirty cop was bad enough; killing an FBI agent would be suicide.

“As long as he is unable to find anything we’ll let him continue,” Hannibal said. “We can’t afford to look suspicious.”

Tobias seemed to want to disagree, but there was no better alternative for him to offer in the situation so he merely nodded once more. He took a breath before continuing on with his agenda.

“And then there’s Will…”

Hannibal frowned. “What about Will?”

“The FBI agent I mentioned is looking heavily into his background. He’s questioned his old professors, his fiancée, friends at school, fellow Marines…”

Hannibal shifted in his seat and forced himself not to show the anger on his face. “He will find nothing. Will was an upstanding citizen and a war hero. There won’t be anything linking him to Chilton or McCluskey apart from Uncle Robert.”

“Maybe,” Tobias agreed. “But the fiancée knows better. She might start talking. She seemed fairly convinced about his guilt from what you’ve told me.”

“She is merely suspicious. She has no proof of anything, in spite of what she may believe. There’s nothing that she can give the FBI or the police that will prove that Will is guilty of anything.”

“I would still be happier if we waited a while before having Will return home,” Tobias said. “We can’t be too careful, Hannibal. Even once the police bow out, the other Families are going to need convincing, and then there’s this FBI agent who seems doggedly determined to figure out what happened to Chilton and McCluskey. He could be our undoing.”

“We will wait,” Hannibal conceded. “But Uncle Robert wants Will returned home as soon as possible. He will not wait more than a few months after things calm down. As I said, Agent Crawford does not have anything concrete. He would be arresting someone if he did. He is a minor inconvenience at the moment.”

“At the moment,” Tobias repeated, stressing the words. “He could stumble onto something and take us all down.”

Hannibal smiled—or, more accurately, his lips twitched and his eyes crinkled in faint amusement. “That is exceptionally doubtful, Tobias. There is very little for him to find. Even with this war, he would need to find a weak link in our chain in order to find anything useful. I am not worried.”

* * *

Mischa’s eyes were bright as she entered the office. Hannibal glanced up from the phone and smiled at her as he spotted her. She and Mason had returned from their trip to Vermont unscathed as far as he was able to tell and he had not noticed any new marks or bruises on her since he had had his talk with Mason.

“Oh,” she blinked when she spotted the phone. “I’m sorry to interrupt—“

“It’s alright,” Hannibal waved her in. “It’s William.”

“Will!” her eyes widened and her grin nearly split her face. “May I speak with him? It’s been so long!”

Hannibal smiled and nodded before speaking into the receiver. “Mischa is here, Will. She would like to speak with you if that’s alright.”

Mischa practically snatched the offered phone from his hands and cooed into the speaker. “Will! It’s so wonderful to hear your voice! I have missed you so much. You’re doing well, I hope?”

Hannibal leaned back in his seat and watched his sister happily talking into the phone. He had not seen her this joyous since her wedding day and he found himself wishing that he could capture the moment forever and keep it locked away. Seeing Mischa so happy made him feel oddly warm inside. He committed the image to his memory and carefully stored it away, glad to have something pleasant to distract himself from matters of business and war—and from Will’s ever growing friendship with one Miss Molly Foster.

“He’s doing much better,” Mischa was saying as she perched herself on the edge of the desk rather than find a chair to sit in. If it were anyone else Hannibal would have gently but forcefully moved them into one of the seats carefully situated on the other side of the desk, but this was Mischa and so he smiled rather fondly at her and shook his head.

“You should see him,” she said. “He’s up and about so much more lately. He’s thrilled to be out of the wheelchair, but he complains about the walking cane constantly.” There was a pause and she fiddled with the hem of her dress, straightening it carefully as she listened to whatever Will was saying on the other end.

“Vermont was lovely,” she said. “Mason’s sister was wonderful; you would adore her!” She continued chattering on about mostly unimportant things and Hannibal only paid minimal attention as she spoke—telling Will about how sick Winston was lately, telling him how worried Aunt Theresa was, about how reclusive Hannibal had been, about Vermont and the farm and how good it had been to get away from the city for a short while.

“Oh, and I’ve got fantastic news!” Mischa suddenly stood and spun around to face Hannibal, her eyes bright. He suddenly remembered how excited she had looked when she walked into the office and wondered what had gotten her so happy. Her eyes met his and she beamed at him. When she spoke again it was to both Will and Hannibal, her joy nearly infectious.

“I’m pregnant! I’m going to be a mother! Isn’t that wonderful?”

She laughed and her eyes were bright, but Hannibal felt something in his chest seize up. His smile felt wooden, but Mischa did not seem to notice as she babbled excitedly about becoming a mother and how she was looking forward raising the child. Her words became a dull drone in the back of his mind as he tried to remind himself that this was not under his control, not matter how much he would very much like it to be. He was honestly not sure if the news of this baby made him ill simply because of who the father was, or because it was one more step toward removing Mischa from his life.

Suddenly, her arms were around his neck and he returned the hug after a delayed moment, pressing his face into her hair and breathing in the scent of her. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but he could certainly smell a difference in her. He had seen her so rarely lately that it was not a surprise that he hadn’t noticed the smell before. It was not necessarily an unpleasant smell, the pregnancy—if that was what he was detecting—but it made her seem just that more not his Mischa. He did not like it.

“I’ll let you speak with Hannibal now,” she said. “Even though he monopolizes so much of your time. I must go tell Uncle Robert. He’ll be so happy!”

She passed the phone to Hannibal and kissed him softly on the cheek before leaving. Hannibal watched her go before turning his attention back to the phone. He was, for once, at a sincere loss for words. Luckily, Will spoke first.

“Well,” he said, his voice crackling over the speaker. “That was unexpected.”

Hannibal cleared his throat. “It should not have been. They have been married for a year now. We should perhaps be surprised that she has not made this announcement sooner.”

Will sighed heavily and for just a moment Hannibal wondered if he felt the same about this pregnancy as he did. “Now that you mention it, it is a bit strange that she hasn’t already had a child. And now it’s just one more thing that I won’t be there to see.”

Hannibal shook his head. “You will be here in time to see the baby born, William. I promise.”

“You can’t make promises like that, Hannibal. You said before this all began that it could be as much as three years. It hasn’t even been one year yet. I’m not an idiot. I know it’s not all going to be over that quickly. I don’t expect to be home anytime soon.”

“We are doing our best, Will,”

“I know,” Will sounded resigned, but still somewhat happier than Hannibal had heard him. “I’m not blaming you, Hannibal. I understand. I’ll be patient. I can wait. So long as you and everyone else are safe and everything does eventually get sorted out, I’ll be alright.”

Hannibal smiled. “A healthy attitude. That’s good. I’m glad you’re dealing with this so well.” He glanced at the clock and sighed. Mischa had used up most of his time to speak with Will. “I’m afraid I must go now. I will speak with you again later.” He almost asked about Molly, but Will had only mentioned her once in passing before Mischa had entered and he was already noticing how suspiciously Hannibal behaved whenever he spoke of her. He didn’t want Will to think there was anything wrong. Instead, he took a calculated risk and sat back in his seat.

“I love you, Will.”

There was a heavy pause and Hannibal was sure that Will was working through how best to respond to that without offending him or hurting his feelings.

“Hannibal…” he sighed heavily and for a moment Hannibal expected Will to lecture him once more on how inappropriate their relationship had been. Instead, Will made a small little noise in the back of his throat.

“I love you, too,” he whispered.

Hannibal’s eyes crinkled with delight at hearing those words. He knew it meant little in the grand scheme of things—at least for the moment—but it was a step in the direction that he wanted things to go. Will might be fighting with himself about his feelings, but at least he was aware of them and admitted to them. It would make it much easier for him to get Will to see things from his perspective if he weren’t in denial.

He closed his eyes after he hung up and replayed the quiet words over and over in his mind, feeling something stirring in him from his chest to his groin. He remembered the first time Will had ever said those words to him—he had been seventeen and they were tangled together in Hannibal’s bed, Hannibal curling his fingers through Will’s sweaty curls. He could still remember the smell of him, the taste of him. He longed for those days once more. They were simple and Will was pliable. So much had changed.

If he were a more jumpy person, he would had jolted from his chair when the door suddenly burst open. He turned toward the intruder with a frown, eyes dark with annoyance. Everyone—except Mischa who was, as always, curiously immune to Hannibal’s rules—knocked before entering the office. Abel Gideon stood before him with Tobias right on his heels. Both men were wide eyed and ashen and Hannibal’s annoyance quickly gave way to worry.

“What’s happened?” he demanded.

“Dolarhyde,” Gideon said. “I warned you. He can’t be kept on a leash. They’re going to retaliate. It’s not going to be pretty, Hannibal. This lull is over.”

“What’s happened?” Hannibal repeated, eyes narrowing. Dolarhyde was an unpredictable, but invaluable asset and illogically loyal. He couldn’t imagine him doing anything that would damage the Family intentionally.

“He killed Bruno Tattaliga,” Tobias said. His voice was steady, but his eyes were wild with worry. “Got him right outside his home an hour ago. The Tattalgias aren’t going to let this go, Hannibal. Bruno’s father is furious. We’re in for a bloodbath.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, all mistakes are my own. Comments and critiques are welcome!
> 
> And remember--things are on a slippery slope here. Bad things are about to start happening within a couple of chapters. Be prepared for that.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of nervous about this chapter...
> 
> As usual, thanks for everyone reading this! You guys are fantastic!

_Paris – October, 1946_

Will slumped further down into the chair as he listened to Hannibal explain what had happened weeks earlier. Dolarhyde killing Bruno Tattaliga had set off a chain reaction—the Tattaliga Family was more than angry. Bruno’s father—head of the Family—was taking it personally. In less than a month the Lecter Family had lost twelve men. There had been shooting in broad daylight, something that the Families tried to avoid at all costs. It was getting worse by the day. Hannibal had spent every day in their uncle’s office, avoiding even going outdoors just in case someone tried to retaliate by taking a shot at him.

“I take it this means it’s going to be a while longer before I can return?”

“I’m afraid so,” Hannibal said. “The city isn’t safe for any of us at the moment. It would be particularly unsafe for you. Until the Tattaliga Family has sated their bloodlust, I doubt that they will be willing to negotiate any sort of peace with us.”

Will rubbed a hand over his face and squeezed his eyes shut. At least Hannibal and everyone else was safe. As safe as they could be. The Lecter compound was a fortress. Hannibal assured him that they had plenty of guards around the house—both for his safety and for their uncle’s safety especially.

“We will get you home, Will.”

“I know,” Will said. “I know. I shouldn’t have even let myself hope it would be any time soon. It hasn’t even been a year yet and you told me even before I left that it would likely be a year or longer. I just have to be patient.”

“It’s an unfortunate delay,” Hannibal said, “but we can deal with delays. You’ll be home where you belong before you know it.”

Will laughed and shook his head faintly. “I’m sure,” he said. He cast his eyes around the room and wished for a safer topic. There were no safe topics with Hannibal, however, and he wondered if there ever would be.

“You haven’t heard anything from Alana?”

“No, Will,” Hannibal said. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Will said, exasperated. “It isn’t your fault. She did the smart thing, deciding to get away from me before it was too late.” He stared down at his hands, wondering how often he would have to tell himself that before her abandonment hurt less. He knew it was more than a little selfish—after all, he’d technically abandoned her first—but he wished she would have just given him a chance to properly explain. Her giving up on him hurt a lot more than her sticking around for him to get home so she could yell at him.

“I feel at least some of the blame should be laid on my shoulders,” Hannibal said. “It was me who convinced you to shoot McCluskey and Dr. Chilton in the first place.”

Will flinched at the mention of their names, but forced himself not to dwell on it. “It was my idea, Hannibal. I agreed to it. You can’t take responsibility for my actions any more than I could take it for yours.”

Hannibal chuckled lightly. Will smiled at the sound. It always sent a warm feeling through him when Hannibal laughed, no matter how soft the laugh was. It was a good feeling.

There was a moment of silence and Will’s eyes went to the clock. “You have to go now, don’t you?”

“Sadly, yes,” Hannibal said. “We will speak later.” There was a hesitant pause and Will smirked. Hannibal only ever hesitated about one thing.

“Hannibal?” he asked, his voice lilting upwards slightly.

Hannibal sighed. “You know how much I care for you, William.”

“I do,” Will said. “And I care for you, too. But I believe that this is a conversation we should have when we’re face to face. My feelings have not exactly changed, after all.”

There was a beat of silence. “Of course. Goodbye, Will.”

Will closed his eyes as he put the receiver down. He could picture the look on Hannibal’s face—stonily placid except for the eyes. Hannibal was not a man who emoted often, but Will had known him long enough to spot the little things that gave him away. Minute twists to his lips, slight shifts in his eyes and the way they would darken or glisten sometimes when he was feeling some very powerful emotion.

In his mind’s eye Will could see his brother—mouth just barely twitching downwards, eyes crinkled in slight annoyance and dark with some unfathomable emotion that ran deeper than disappointment. He felt guilt swell inside of his chest at the thought, but he was just being honest. He would have felt even worse if he were lying to him about how he felt.

* * *

Will was well on his way to being thoroughly drunk when Molly found him at their usual lunch spot. She frowned down at him, one brow raised accusingly as she took her seat and he smiled at her.

“I’m not exactly one to make crippling judgments, Will,” she said, “but it’s hardly lunch time and you’re already pissed.”

Will just shrugged at her and started to take another swig of the cheap wine that he had ordered. She snatched it away and he made a face at her.

“I’m going to guess something went wrong on the home front?” she asked carefully. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but whatever it is certainly isn’t worth how you’re going to feel in the morning.”

Will snorted. “We’ve already shared some pretty dark secrets between the two of us, Molly,” he said. “This… ‘snot that bad anyway. I just needed a few drinks.” His words were slurred, but it wasn’t as bad as Molly thought when she’d sat down. He still sounded like Will, at least.

She sat the wine bottle back on the table, closer to her so that she could pull it away again if he reached for it; no matter what, he had most definitely had enough to drink already.

“A few drinks,” she said, eyeing the bottle. “You’ve nearly drunk half the bottle.”

“May have finished off a bottle of Scotch before I left.” Will seemed utterly unbothered as he leaned back in his seat and studied her with narrowed eyes. She felt suddenly as if she were being peeled apart. Will’s eyes always saw too much, but that oddly focused look he had at the moment made even her uncomfortable.

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” Will said. Then he paused, frowning. “Well. Nothing as bad as what you’re imagining. No one died. No one I know, anyway. People are always dying. Usually not pretty when they do. But you know that anyway.”

“ _Will!_ ”

He blinked. “Right. Sorry. Didn’t mean… I wasn’t trying to say that.”

She huffed at him and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Anyway. It was just some bad news. My brother called this morning. He said some things happened. Involving dead people I don’t know. So I’ll have to stay here longer. Should’ve known, really.”

He looked down, suddenly dejected and Molly sighed heavily, letting her arms fall back to her side. She reached across the table and put a hand over one of his. He jerked, eyes widening for a moment, but he didn’t yank his hand away.

“You’ve been here ten months already, Will. Surely you can stand to wait out however much longer it will be.”

He nodded, the movement seeming slow and very careful. “I can. I know I can. But I miss them.” His brows scrunched together and he looked up, meeting Molly’s gaze. “I miss them all so much.” He choked and suddenly there were tears in his eyes and he sucked in a hard breath.

“My dog’s dying. Winston. I won’t be home to see him before he goes. He probably thinks I abandoned him.”

Molly squeezed his fingers. “I’m sure he doesn’t,” she said. “Dogs are strange like that, you know. They’re loyal. They understand. All Winston will think about is how you played with him and took care of him. He’ll understand better than any human would that you wouldn’t simply abandon him.”

Will laughed and it turned into a hiccup. He screwed his eyes shut and took several steadying breaths. “Wish I could be there for him…” he trailed off and gently pulled his hand away from Molly’s. “I wish I could just be _there_.”

She sat back and watched him. Will was always a bit homesick, but this was different. He usually didn’t wallow, at least not that she had ever seen. She wondered if he was like this a lot—back in the privacy of his room, drinking until the memories weren’t quite so clear and painful.

“You will be home, Will,” she said. “One day. A few months from now, a year from now. It shouldn’t matter. You’ll see them again.”

Something in her voice made Will look at her again and suddenly the tears were shining and he nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He scrubbed his eyes and shook his head. “I’m feeling sorry for myself. I—“

“It’s okay to feel sorry for yourself sometimes,” she said. “Just… maybe don’t feel sorry for yourself with a bottle of wine.” She reached over and squeezed his hand briefly before pulling away. “Especially not when you’re expecting to have lunch with someone. Very rude.” Her eyes sparkled and Will laughed, rolling his eyes at her.

For the rest of the hour, Molly kept forcing Will to drink water and eat, trying to get him at least a bit more sober so that he would be entirely drunk when he returned to the “safe house”, as he called it. As they were about to part ways outside of the restaurant, he reached out and caught her hand.

“You know, I’ve never asked,” he said. “What do you do when you’re not with me?”

She laughed. “Do you expect I have no life apart from you, Will Graham?”

“That’s not what I said,” he said. “If I thought you just sat around and moped without me I wouldn’t have asked.”

She smiled. “I work with my cousin,” she said. “She owns a little dress shop here in the city. It’s a bit like the one I ran in London before the war.” She sighed and her eyes got that far off look like they did when she was remember something fondly. She took a half step back when she realized that Will was watching her closely again, that strangely attuned gaze focusing on her.

“Will?”

He licked his lips and tugged her just a little closer by the hand he still held. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, breathing deeply for a moment. His eyes fell to her mouth and he watched as she smiled, her lips tilting upwards in the lopsided grin that he had come to know so well.

“You’re still drunk,” she said playfully.

Will stepped a bit closer, smiling when she didn’t step away. “So?”

He didn’t wait for a response, but he moved very, very slowly, as if he were scared of making her run away. His hand rested gently at the back of her neck and then his lips were on hers, soft and cautious. A bit clumsy because he really was still a bit drunk. Her smile widened against his lips and her fingers were suddenly tangling in his messy hair, yanking him closer and pressing them together, deepening the kiss.

He hesitated for just a moment before clinging to her, just a little bit of his desperation slipping out of him as he held himself against her and parted his lips to let their tongues tangle together. He let go of the hand he held and nearly jumped when he felt it grip his hip to hold his somewhat wobbly legs steady.

Molly’s face was flushed and her eyes were bright when she pulled back.

“I seem to recall you saying that you had no romantic interest in me, Mr. Graham,” she said. “This isn’t because you’re missing Alana, is it?”

He blinked and shook his head dumbly, trying to pull his thoughts back into order. It was difficult enough with the alcohol in his blood; the kiss had made thinking nearly impossible.

“No,” he said, after a moment. “I just felt like kissing you.”

She grinned. “Well, it was a very nice kiss.” She leaned forward and kissed him again—quick, soft and chaste. “Unfortunately, I have to get back to the shop.” Her fingers fiddled with his curls and the hand at his hip slipped further until it was resting at the small of his back. “Would you mind terribly if I stopped by your house late this evening?”

He shook his head again, kissing her one last time—hard and needy. She could probably still taste the wine on him despite all her efforts to sober him up.

“I would be disappointed if you didn’t,” he said.

“I’ll see you then.” She slipped from his arms and he watched her walk away, feeling a strange mixture of buoyancy and guilt in his chest. Kissing Molly hadn’t been like kissing Alana, or like kissing Hannibal. He felt oddly like he was betraying all three of them just by having that thought and he shook his head. He was still a bit unsteady on his feet, but he decided to walk back to the house. He could use the fresh air and the time to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, all mistakes are my own. Any comments and critques are welcome!
> 
> Remember guys, the next chapter is not going to be very happy or fun. I'm very anxious about writing it...


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to everyone reading this! You guys are fantastical! <3
> 
> Brace yourselves, guys. I feel awful about what happens in this chapter so you guys are probably not going to be coming away with any fluffy feelings...

_New York – December, 1946_

Hannibal was beginning to understand his uncle’s annoyance at being confined to the house. He had only left the safety of the Lecter Compound twice since the death of Bruno Tattaliga, each time accompanied by a heavy guard—men he would rather not have had to spare. The bloodshed had died down, somewhat, but the senior Tattaliga’s thirst for revenge certainly had not. Hannibal was confined to the house, watched by guards and only allowed a moment of peace when he was sleeping or speaking with Will during their all too rare phone calls.

He was not so petulant as to complain outright, but his distaste for the arrangement was not exactly a secret. Tobias assured him over and over that it was for his safety, that they could not stand to lose their only leader. Hannibal grudgingly had to agree to that, at least. And he was most definitely not willing to do something reckless and get himself killed simply because he couldn’t stand to stay indoors for a few months.

Still, he often found himself staring longingly out the window of his uncle’s office. Snow was falling by now, though most of it turned to sludge and dirty sleet by the time it hit the pavement. He longed to take a quiet, solitary walk, just a moment to himself and the grand palace in his mind…

“We need to do something, Hannibal,” Gideon’s voice pulled him back to the more pressing conversation at hand. “We’re losing men. Three died just last week and six more ducked out. We’re all feeling the heat now. Even with the cops less enthusiastic about catching us, we can’t keep men. The other Families are crushing us.”

“There is very little that we can do,” Hannibal said. “Unfortunately the Tattaligas will only be sated once they have settled their anger and grief over Bruno Tattaliga’s death. That isn’t going to be possible unless they kill me or William.”

“Or both,” Gideon pointed out, somewhat sullen. “We’ve lost men and money and we’re running out of steam. Pretty soon it isn’t going to matter how badly we want to keep fighting; we won’t be able to.”

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed just slightly and Gideon sat back in his seat.

“I don’t recall it being your place to advise me, Abel,” Hannibal said. “It’s your job to find men, train them, and keep them fighting. I am well aware of the Family’s financial state. We are losing revenue, but with the police department backing off we have been able to make back some of our lost resources.”

“It’s not enough to keep funding this war indefinitely,” Tobias said. “And it _is_ my job to advise you. We need a more permanent solution and we need it fast.”

Hannibal nodded and resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. He was tired. Tired of this war, tired of hiding like a coward, tired of fighting an uphill battle. But, unfortunately, there was little they could do unless they could convince the other Families to negotiate a peace—and with the Tattaliga Family still burning over Bruno’s death that was not likely to happen.

“Until we can somehow appease the Tattaliga Family, or prove to them that their lust for vengeance is futile, the matter is out of my hands. We can only press on and continue fighting.”

It wasn’t what Gideon wanted to hear, but it was the only truth that he intended to give them. They would have to attempt to outlast the bitterness that Bruno’s murder had cause between them before any sort of peace could even be spoken of. It was unlikely that there was an end to the bloodshed hovering on the horizon just yet.

Hannibal thought longingly of Will, still in France and alone with that woman. It would be such a long wait before he was able to see him again. He was lucky he had such ceaseless patience.

* * *

The following afternoon was far more pleasant than any of the last several had been. Hannibal found himself in the kitchen with his aunt, a place he had not been in an unfortunate amount of time. He was almost smiling at the familiar and comfortable setting—the warm kitchen, the clatter of voices throughout the house, his aunt working at his side, smiling and talking animatedly as if nothing were wrong, dictating him even though he had learned long ago what to do.

Hannibal wasn’t what anyone would have called sentimental, but the sounds and smells of cooking with his aunt brought him back, momentarily, to his childhood and the days he had spent standing on a step-stool by her side, watching in fascination as she explained the intricacies of creating a meal.

Theresa nudged her nephew gently with her elbow while her fingers continued to work a heavy dough. “We have not done this in quite a while,” she said. Hannibal’s lips twisted just a bit more toward a smile and he inclined his head.

“I’ve been busy,” he said. “If I could have had someone else do all of my work and oversee everything, I would have been in the kitchen with you every day.”

She grinned at him and shook her head. “You would not,” she said. “You would never pass your duties on to someone else. You care too much about getting things done as you would like them to ever do such a thing.”

A faint laugh trickled out past Hannibal’s lips and he had to pause for a moment. He had nearly forgotten what it was like to laugh in the company of others. For the past year most of his laughing had taken place in rare, stolen moments as he talked to Will, or the few occasions when Mischa could manage to catch him off guard.

“Perhaps not,” he agreed. “Then I should say that if I could have all the work finished and done with I would be here, with you, cooking.”

His aunt smiled and shook her head gently. The phone that hung on the wall behind them interrupted their conversation and Theresa turned without glancing back, pushing Hannibal gently toward the counter where she had been working.

“See to the dough, Hannibal,” she said. “I will answer the phone. You’ve spoken to enough people for today.”

He allowed a small, fond smile to actually grace his lips before turning and doing as instructed. Theresa lifted the phone out of the cradle carefully, tucking it beneath her ear while she scrubbed her hands on her apron. She spoke quietly and in a clipped voice, always conscious of how her thick accent came through over the phone to most Americans.

“Mischa, dear!” She suddenly lit up, her eyes widening with joy. “So good to hear from you. You and your husband will be here for Christmas next week, won’t you?”

Hannibal’s ears perked up when he heard his sister’s name, but he relaxed as his aunt carried on cheerily. He allowed himself to focus on the dough until he heard Theresa’s voice rise in pitch, confusion and concern coloring her tone.

“Mischa, what is it? What’s wrong?” she asked, speaking far too quickly and clutching one hand into her apron. “Mischa, you’re mumbling; I can’t understand a work you’re saying to me.”

Moving quickly, Hannibal wiped his hands clean and carefully removed the receiver from Theresa’s hands. She stood at his side, watching him anxiously. The dough sat behind them, almost entirely forgotten.

“Mischa? This is Hannibal. Are you hurt? Are you alright?”

Mischa’s voice was watery and quiet over the phone.

“H-Hannibal? Oh, oh, I didn’t want to bother you, Hannibal. Let me speak with Aunt Theresa. Please.”

“No,” Hannibal frowned. “Mischa tell me what is wrong right now.”

Her breath warbled for a moment, sounding almost ethereal over the speaker and then a sob let loose that made Hannibal see red. His fingers tightened dangerously around the casing on the telephone.

“I-It’s… Oh, God.”

She was sobbing more openly by that point and Hannibal was very near doing something ridiculously rash and throwing the phone down so that he could rush blindly to her city apartment and find out what had his sister in such state.

“Mischa,” he said, forcing his voice to be even. “Tell me what is wrong.”

“Th-The baby… Oh, God, Hannibal, the baby…”

Something odd spiked through him. A wave of terror and a small form of relief. Terror because of how upset Mischa was, but relief because if she had lost the baby it was one less thing tying her to Mason Verger and that was a victory no matter the awful circumstances. He breathed deeply through his nose and closed his eyes to keep his emotions in check.

“What about the baby, Mischa?”

There was a long pause where all Hannibal could hear was his sister’s elevated breathing and then, finally, she spoke. “I need to meet you, Hannibal. In person. Please.”

Hannibal knew he should have said no—that he should have told her that there was no way he could safely leave the house at the moment. But Mischa’s fear and grief were so loud over the phone that it was already all his iron control could take to not be at her side immediately.

“I will be at your apartment as soon as –“

“No,” Mischa cut him off, her voice high and suddenly very frightened. “Not the apartment. Um. Somewhere else. Anywhere else, please, Hannibal. It’s… it’s nearly lunch time. Meet me at the restaurant. The—the one we ate at last time. I forget the name. Please. Just not the apartment.”

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong and every instinct Hannibal had was telling him that it was something to do with Mason Verger.

“I remember it,” he said. “I will meet you there.”

“Okay. And Hannibal?”

“Yes?”

“Hurry. Please.”

She hung up and Hannibal felt somewhat ill as he listened to click reverberate in his head. He quickly replaced the receiver in the cradle and dashed out of the kitchen, calling to his aunt that he was going to meet Mischa immediately and that it was urgent. She began yelling after him, demanding to know what was wrong and insisting that it was too dangerous and he should send one of his men in his stead.

“I will have to take my chances,” Hannibal said. “Mischa needs me.”

He was already throwing on his overcoat and had nearly forgotten the apron tied around his waist. He yanked it off carelessly and handed it to his aunt, who took it with fumbling hands and shook her head at him.

“It’s dangerous,” she insisted. “You should not take such a risk, Hannibal. Your uncle will be furious.”

“I will deal with that when I return, but I must know what is wrong with Mischa first.” He turned and kissed her on the cheek softly, brushing a strand of greying blonde hair from her eyes. “I will be fine, Aunt Theresa. Do not worry. I can take care of myself.”

He smiled and she sighed heavily, shaking her head and returning to the kitchen. He turned and headed at a brisk pace toward the foyer, trying not to run. It would not get him there any quicker and he needed to keep his cool. Now was certainly not the time to lose his grip on himself.

He pulled the door open, buttoning up the last few buttons of his coat, and nearly ran head-first into Alana Bloom.

Blinking, he stumbled back and automatically reached out to steady her as she slipped on the thin patch of ice at the steps. He gripped her arms tightly as he righted them both and stared at her for a moment, silently cursing her for having such terrible timing. He forced a smile and released her, turning her away from the house and walking out into the courtyard.

“Miss Bloom,” he said genially. “What a pleasant surprise. Unfortunately, I am just about to head out to an important meeting and—“

“Where is Will?” Alana demanded. She jerked herself out of his grip and turned to stare at him with wide, accusing eyes.

Hannibal sighed and then lowered his arms. “I believe I already explained to you that I have no idea where Will is, and even if I did I would not be able to tell you.”

Alana shook her head. “No, that’s not what I meant. I haven’t heard a word from Will. Nothing. If he were able to contact me, he would. He hasn’t called or written in nearly a year. He’s been missing since just after Christmas last year. …Since those murders.”

“Murders which I have assured you were not Will’s doing.”

“I don’t believe that.” Alana had a sharp tongue and the fierceness in her eyes was formidable. Hannibal lamented, for a moment, the fact that she had to be in the way of what he wanted. He was right in his earlier assessment that he would have liked her in another world, under different circumstances.

“What is it that you believe, Miss Bloom?”

She crossed her arms and stood up straighter, bringing herself up an inch or so to make her closer to his level.

“I believe that Will was trying to warn me when he said that his family was criminals. I believe that whatever happened to your uncle was some kind of… Mafia hit. I believe that you, or you and your family, coerced Will into killing those men because he was expendable. He isn’t even really a part of your family, given that he was adopted and he told me once how you aren’t kind to outsiders…” She drew in a sharp breath and narrowed her eyes.

“And then he vanished and you say you don’t know where even though you obviously know what happened to him and he’s been gone for a very long time, Mr. Lecter.”

He realized, after a moment, that she was accusing him of murder and he nearly laughed in her face at the absurdity of him killing William.

“You believe that I killed him,” he said flatly, keeping his face carefully neutral.

Alana fidgeted. “I believe that someone in your ‘family’ did. I believe—I believe that Will said you were killers and I thought he was just being dramatic, but now… I’m not so sure.”

Hannibal had to stop himself from glancing down at his wristwatch. He was going to be late if he did not get rid of Alana soon and he did not want to keep Mischa waiting.

“I’m afraid Will was very much being dramatic, Miss Bloom. My family is not made up of criminals and killers. We are simple business men; my uncle owns an import business and while he is recovering, I have taken up many of his responsibilities.” He paused and tilted his head, making sure that he met her eyes before he continued speaking.

“And you are very, very wrong about William’s relationship with our family. He is very much one of us and I would never let anything happen to him, whether it be outside forces or those acting within these very walls. Will is my brother and it does not matter that we do not share the same blood. We are family.”

Alana eyed him skeptically and he wanted badly to shake her until her teeth rattled around in her skull. Perhaps that would get his point across clearly enough for her to understand.

“I’m having just a bit of trouble believing you when it seems that Will has done something that he swore to me he wanted no part in, ever.”

“People do change their minds from time to time, Miss Bloom. William is no exception to that. I can guarantee that if you could speak to him he would tell you the same as I am telling you: he made his own choices, no matter what they are, and he is in no danger from me or from anyone else in this family.”

Alana seemed to crumble, just a bit, under his hard stare, but she quickly rallied herself.

“I want to know where he is. I want to speak with him. A year is long enough.”

“I’m afraid that is impossible,” Hannibal said. “Even if Will were able to speak with you, he does not wish to.”

Alana blinked. “What?”

“He has been away for nearly a year with no attempts to contact you, Miss Bloom. I would think that it would be fairly obvious, by this time, that he has no desire to speak with you. I would assume that it has something to do with the choices he made that he does not believe you will approve of.”

Shaking her head, Alana stepped forward. “You aren’t supposed to give up on the people that you love and care about and I am not going to give up on Will. Tell me where he is.”

“I can’t help you,” Hannibal said. “I wish that I could, but it is simply not possible. Now, if you don’t mind, there is a pressing matter that I must attend to in the city.” He turned to leave her, but she reached out and tangled her fingers into the fabric of his sleeve.

“You know where he is,” she said. Her voice cracked, just a bit. Enough to show the emotion she was working so hard to stamp down. He wondered if she sometimes still found herself crying into her pillow at night, wondering and worrying about what had become of her fiancé.

“Please,” she whispered. “Just tell me where he is. Or—or tell him that I still love him. Tell that I want to talk to him. Whatever happened, I’ll wait to hear his side of things. I’ll wait as long as it takes. Tell him that, if you can’t tell me where he is.”

There was something desperate in her gaze and Hannibal carefully detached her hand from his arm before meeting her eyes.

“I will do what I can,” he promised her. Her answering smile was grateful, but still skeptically suspicious. She was smart enough to sense that there was something off about him, but she hadn’t quite yet pinned down exactly what it was she was supposed to mistrust. He smiled widely at her and very carefully pulled her into an embrace. It took her a moment to return it and she pressed her face against his shoulder for one brief second before she pulled back and stepped away.

“Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate it.”

He watched her leave and let the smile drop from his features as soon as she was out of sight. He quickly turned and hurried toward one of the waiting cars, sliding behind the wheel and barely taking the time to close the door before he was driving away.

* * *

Traffic was terrible in the city—the sludge and ice on the roads made the long line of cars move at a snail’s pace and Hannibal could feel his perfect patience beginning to crack. Alana Bloom’s unexpected visit had set him back several precious minutes and now he was moving at far too slow a pace. He hoped that Mischa would not be waiting for him very long. She had probably arrived less than fifteen minutes after their phone call given how near she lived to the restaurant.

The Christmas decorations hanging in shop windows made Hannibal think back to the previous year—to the attempt on his uncle’s life. He grimaced at the brightly colored lights and children running down slippery sidewalks, pressing their faces against the glass of windows, eagerly pointing out what they wanted as their parents made exasperated faces and tried to drag them away.

It was all so very pedestrian and mundane. Hannibal could imagine far better ways to spend the week before Christmas than shopping with sticky, screaming children. He let himself imagine it, briefly, as the traffic crawled forward. He brought forth the memory of one of his favorite Christmases. The snow had fallen heavily the day before and the roads were icy and dangerous, keeping Uncle Robert trapped in the city apartment for the night.

Mischa and Aunt Theresa were deep sleepers and Will had snuck down to his bedroom earlier than usual, his eyes bright and his curls too long and messy. He had been nearly eighteen at the time, Hannibal nearly twenty. He had tapped on his door and entered without waiting for his answer. Hannibal had been waiting for him, sitting in a chair by the fireplace, the fire crackling.

He’d motioned for Will to sit with him and pulled him down onto his lap. He had taken a bottle of wine from the cellar and Will had scolded him for taking it without asking and refused to drink any at first. It had taken insistent persuasion to make him change his mind—Will had gotten very drunk that night. He’d never had more than a few sips of wine for Communion or at weddings. He had looked so ridiculously young then, with his cheeks flushed red and his eyes fevered with the alcohol. He planted sloppy kisses up and down Hannibal’s face and throat for several minutes before he had slid down to the floor on his knees.

It was the first time he had ever taken Hannibal into his mouth. It was messy and unskilled, but he had looked so beautiful there on the floor between his legs. Hannibal had run his fingers through his hair and let his head rest against the back of the chair as Will worked him over with his eager and clumsy tongue. He had choked and spluttered when Hannibal finally climaxed in his mouth, pulling back for a moment before trying to catch as much of his seed as he could. There was a mess on the floor in spite of his efforts, but Will hadn’t been concerned about that at all.

He nearly fallen asleep almost immediately after Hannibal came and Hannibal had carried him back to his bedroom before cleaning up the mess there. It had been very much worth it. He could still feel and hear and smell it all in perfect clarity and suddenly he found himself aching for Will’s touch, for his hands and his tongue and his bright, eager eyes.

Car horns honked around him and he shook his head clear, forcing himself to focus. He could feel his erection pressing against his trousers and he reached down with one hand to rub it, groaning and hissing. He suddenly wished to be alone at home once more, but he thought of Mischa’s terrified voice and knew that he couldn’t simply leave his sister alone when she clearly needed comforting. He pressed harder against the gas and silently willed the restaurant to come nearer.

* * *

There was nowhere to park when Hannibal finally arrived and he frowned. For a moment, he didn’t recognize the news vans with the reporters snapping photographs or the small, slowly gathering crowd of morbidly fascinated bystanders. It wasn’t until he saw the ambulances and the police cars that his heart seemed to jump in his chest.

Forgoing his usual composure, Hannibal nearly flew out of the car. He pushed through the crowd of onlookers, ignoring their angry curses. He came within several feet of the restaurant doors and froze. The entire storefront was shattered—a hail of bullets must have gone through the windows and doors to cause such damage. He was close enough now to smell the blood in the air and his gut tightened as he forced his frozen limbs into action.

He was stopped by a police officer who grabbed his arm.

“Sir, you can’t go in there.”

He turned to stare at the man, eyes wide and burning. “What happened? My sister… my sister was in there!”

The officer gave him a sympathetic look, and shook his head, turning to face the damaged restaurant. “Goddamned Mafia,” he said. “It’s bad enough their violence is out in the open for everyone to see, but to shoot up a nice place like this, full of civilians?” He made a disgusted face and Hannibal’s throat closed.

Mafia? He did not bother to think. He shoved past the officer, ignoring his shouts and the shouts of others. He heard running feet behind him, but he was faster in his desperation. He pushed his way through the doors and felt something shatter in his chest that he hadn’t even been aware he had.

There were bodies everywhere, covered with clean white cloths to protect them. He counted at least six lying in pools of thick, syrupy blood. He scanned them quickly, praying to a God he did not even believe in that everything was alright. It took a moment, but his eyes lit on a familiar foot, in a bloodied white shoe, and he lurched toward it without thought.

Wrenching back the sheet that covered her face, Hannibal stared down at the body lying near a toppled over table. Her face was pale and her eyes were still open—no one had thought to close them yet and he cursed inwardly. She was nearly blue with the frigid air outside and the lack of blood. Her pretty blue and white dress was splattered with blood and a few bright red dots marred her face.

Swallowing, Hannibal fell to his knees beside her and felt something hot on his face. It took him a second to recognize that he was actually crying. Something thick and wet was seeping into his trousers and he knew on some distant level that it was Mischa’s blood, but he didn’t acknowledge it. He reached out and lifted her limp form up into his arms, pressing her face into his neck and clutching tightly to her.

There were people around him—probably officers—trying to get him to move, but he didn’t even look up. He closed his eyes tight and curled his fingers into her loose blonde hair, sobbing openly as he hugged his little sister to him.

* * *

It was nearing midnight, hours after Hannibal had finally returned home, that he knocked gently on his uncle’s door.

Uncle Robert was already awake, sitting up in one of his chairs beside an empty fireplace. Hannibal stepped in cautiously, slowly. He moved toward the fireplace without a word to his uncle and started a fire, tending to it for a moment before standing and brushing the soot from his already stained trousers—he had yet to change clothes since that afternoon.

His uncle said nothing, simply watching him with dark eyes. He stepped up toward the liquor cabinet and pulled out a glass and a bottle of brandy. His hands shook slightly as he fixed himself a glass and took a drink, steadying his nerves before he finally turned and sat down, still clutching the glass.

“Hannibal,” Robert finally spoke. “Speak to me. I can hear your aunt crying downstairs. I hear men coming and going from the house. For hours. No one has come to me, to tell me what has happened. And now you’re here and you stop to get a drink before you can even talk to me. Well now you have had your drink. Tell me. What happened?”

Hannibal took shaky breath. He felt as if he were coming apart at the seams. He had never felt this way before and he was not entirely sure how he was meant to deal with all of the tangled up, broken things that were inside of him.

“There was a shooting today, in Manhattan,” he said, his voice thready and tired. “From what we can tell Tattaliga’s men shot up a restaurant there.” He swallowed and looked up, staring into Robert’s eyes. “Mischa was there.”

There was beat of heavy silence before Robert’s eyes welled up with tears and he shook his head. His jaw flexed tightly and he stood, shaking. He was pale and still weak, healing slowly. He forewent his cane and shuffled the few feet toward his nephew. Hannibal watched him with watery eyes, staring straight ahead as he came to a stop directly in front of him.

Robert pulled him into a hug and Hannibal felt like a small child again, pressing his face into his uncle’s shirt and letting a few tears fall from his eyes. Robert held his head and closed his eyes, tears slipping out before he stepped back and reached down, taking the glass from Hannibal’s hands and drinking from it himself.

“This must stop,” Robert said. “There has been enough bloodshed. Enough loss. This ends now.” He moved back to his seat and sat down heavily, staring into the glass he had taken from Hannibal.

“Do not cry, Hannibal. Crying is for the women. We are men. We don’t cry; we take action.” There were still tears lying unshed in Robert’s eyes, but he simply took another drink and sat the glass aside.

“In the morning, you will call the other Families. Tell them that I want a meeting. It’s time we talked peace. This war has to end. You do that, Hannibal. You tell them that I’m stepping forward and I want no more bloodshed. It’s over.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *quietly exiles self to the corner with shame*
> 
> Okay. So, yeah. Like I said, I feel awful that this happened. I really do. But I'm also horribly worried that I didn't manage to write Hannibal in-character. I know he really loves Mischa, but I don't know... is he too affected? Does this make sense? *chews nails*
> 
> Also--if you're familiar with _Godfather_ canon, you'll notice that this is the first really big divergence from the book/film. Obviously there have been others, but this is the biggest one yet. And not the last. Basically, though I am using the _Godfather_ as a template for the plot, I'm trying my best to keep it true to the _Hannibal_ characters and also to make it unique as well. I really hope I'm managing it.
> 
> Basically, I couldn't have Hannibal die in the middle of the story like Sonny Corleone does. They're not really very similar characters--Sonny is very impatient, hot-headed and temperamental. Hannibal is far more controlled and intelligent. What they _do_ share is an intense love for their younger sisters. So that's what I was playing with here. 
> 
> Anyway. I'll stop talking before I give more plot points away. Hope you guys enjoyed this, even though this was kind of a really awful chapter.
> 
> All mistakes are my own. Comments and critiques are welcome!


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys all seem to agree that the last chapter was exceptionally sad. (Sorry!) This chatpter is... not much better, really. 
> 
> As usual, thank you guys for your comments and support!

_Paris – December, 1946_

Will hovered over Molly, panting and shaking, on the verge of collapse. His hair was hanging down in his eyes and he blinked, shaking his head to clear his vision as she pulled him closer, a dazed smile on her face. She pressed their lips together lightly and finally released him, letting her legs slide down from their place around his waist. Rolling over, Will fell hard onto the bed next to her and let his eyes slip closed.

Molly grinned at him, propping herself up on her elbow to watch him. She was still dressed—though her dress was mussed and rumpled now. Will was mostly clothed as well, pants and shirt still on, but hanging open.

“It’s been my experience that people usually divest themselves of _all_ of their clothing before having sex,” Molly said, sliding from the bed and wandering out of the bedroom, toward the hall. Will slowly sat up and righted his clothes as best he could before following her.

“You said you didn’t have much time before you had to get back to help your cousin,” Will said, trailing behind her. Louis and Victor were nowhere in sight, for which he was grateful. He did not want to deal with either of their knowing looks.

Molly found the small bathroom quickly and entered, leaving the door open just a crack.

“Mm,” she said, “but I didn’t really mean that as an invitation for a quickie.”

Will snorted. He leaned against the wall beside the bathroom door and glanced inside to study the small sliver of space he could see. “What did you mean it as then?”

There were sounds drifting from inside—running water, rustling fabric, Molly swearing lightly under her breath—and then Molly reappeared, looking far more put together with her hair combed and her dress straightened. Her eyes sparkled brightly as she smiled at him.

“A simple exchange of information,” she said. “I meant nothing by it at all.”

“Liar,”

She grinned and leaned up to kiss him, her fingers tangling into his sweaty curls. “Probably,” she said.

The last few months had easily been the best of all his time in Paris. He was noticing things about Molly that he found more and more appealing the longer he thought about it—her sharp tongue, her intelligence, her blunt honesty. The way her hair was always just slightly messy no matter what she did with it. The way her hands were large and rough and calloused as they held his. Her laugh that made him feel oddly buoyant.

He’d discovered rather quickly that Molly didn’t do anything half-way. After that first kiss, things had moved faster than Will had expected. He knew it was not fair to compare Molly and Alana, but he couldn’t stop himself. Alana had insisted that they take their relationship slowly, drawing out the courtship before making things more serious. Molly had no such qualms.

Then again, he had known her for quite as while and there was little left for them to figure out about one another.

Molly tapped him gently between the eyes and shook her head.

“You’re getting lost in that mind of yours again,” she said. “I think that means I should go.”

He caught her hand and pulled her to him, kissing her softly on the mouth. “You could stay,” he said. “It’s a small shop. Your cousin can handle it alone for an afternoon.”

Molly seemed to consider it before shaking her head and twisting from his arms.

“I’ll meet you tonight,” she said. “We’ll have dinner at that small little bar where we met and then we’ll walk along the streets drinking too much wine until we stumble and we’ll find a quiet little spot along the Seine and sit there staring at it and pondering the beauty of it all, questioning our very existence and place in presence of God. And then we’ll take a cab back to yours and do unspeakably sinful things that good, unmarried Catholics should just not do.”

Will smiled fondly at her and shook his head.

“But you’re not Catholic,” he said.

She smirked. “Precisely why I’ll be doing those unspeakably sinful things,” she said.

He watched her leave, sliding her coat on as she descended the stairs, and wondered what was going to happen when he eventually returned to New York. It felt too soon to ask her to pack up the life she’d made for herself in Paris and come with him to the United States. Of course, it was likely that it would be several more long months before he was able to return home anyway, so perhaps things would become clearer by then.

He found he wasn’t quite as upset about the prospect of waiting in Paris for a while longer. He still missed his home and family fiercely, but Molly made it easier and easier to deal with the homesickness.

“Sir,” Victor suddenly appeared in front of him and he blinked, jerked from his thoughts. “It’s your brother. He says that it’s urgent.”

Clearing his throat, Will nodded and followed Victor to the study, annoyed when Victor stood outside of the door like some sort of guard dog.

“Hannibal?”

“Will…”

Immediately, Will tensed. Hannibal’s voice was soft and filled with some heavy emotion that Will had never heard in his brother before. He pulled one of the chairs closer and sat down in it, worrying his lower lip.

“What’s wrong? Is Uncle Robert alright? Is it Winston?”

He imagined his uncle’s health taking a turn for the worse and his gut flared with a sick sort of worry. Imagining that Winston had finally passed on was only vaguely less painful.

“Uncle Robert is fine… all things considered, and Winston is still stubbornly clinging to life.” Hannibal laughed faintly and it sounded off to Will’s ears. “I believe he is trying to hold on for your return.” There was a hesitant pause and Will’s free hand gripped at his knee tightly. Hannibal did not ever hesitate.

“Hannibal,” his voice sounded choked, “what’s wrong?”

Hannibal’s breath rattled shakily through the speakers. “It is… I’m afraid something terrible has happened. Mischa… Mischa has been killed.”

White noise.

Will stared down at the floor, his entire body flooding with an odd, numb sensation. His mind conjured up the image of Mischa—seven years old and smiling brightly at him with two teeth missing. Her long, messy hair hanging loose and her dress stained from playing with Winston all afternoon. He remembered very clearly Mischa’s voice when he’d last spoken to her—excited and bubbling over with joy as she told him that she was going to be a mother.

Mischa could not be dead.

All of Hannibal’s words were drowned out by the buzzing sound in his head. He barely registered Hannibal explaining to him that she had been killed in a drive-by assassination attempt gone terribly wrong. All he could hear were the same words, running on a loop with the drone buzz playing over it.

_Mischa has been killed. Mischa has been killed. Mischa has been killed._

After several minutes, or an hour, or perhaps even several days, Hannibal’s voice came through clearer and Will felt the numbness give way to a sick, violent pain in his gut.

“Will? Are you there?”

“I… I’m here,” Will’s voice sounded faint to his own ears and he cleared his throat. “What—what now?” he asked. “What happens now?”

“Uncle Robert has called a meeting,” Hannibal said. “The Five Families are going to discuss a peaceful ending to this war. Once that is settled, we will bury Mischa.” His voice cracked and Will clenched his eyes shut tightly, feeling something hot and wet drip down his face. “And then… we are bringing you home.”

The words did not hold the weight they should have. Will had wanted so badly to return home mere minutes earlier, but now the promise of home was tainted and grim. He wanted to throw up.

“It will take some time to sort everything out, and we will have to wait until we have negotiated the war to a successful end, but you will be back with us before long, Will. I assure you.”

“I’ll miss the funeral,” Will said blankly, his mind latching on to that one detail fiercely and clinging to it.

“I am afraid so,”

Will nodded and his throat felt tight. He wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to talk before he started wailing and screaming.

“Okay,” Will forced himself to breath normally. “Alright. I’ll… I’ll be here then. Waiting.”

“I’m sorry, Will…”

Will nearly cracked up then, his eyes burning and his lips quivering. His voice wobbled and he shook his head. “It’s not your fault,” he said. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll, uh… you should get back. Help Uncle Robert and be with the family.”

“Will—“

“I think I’m going to go out for a while, okay? I’ll take someone with me. I’m going to clear my head. I’ll talk with you later.”

He didn’t wait to hear what else Hannibal had to say. He placed the receiver back in the cradle and pressed his fingers against his eyes, trying desperately to shove all feeling right out of his mind. He could still hear Hannibal’s voice, heavy and quiet.

_Mischa has been killed._

He stood and pushed his way past Victor.

“Sir,” Victor tried to stop him as he headed down the stairs. “I do not think you should leave the house in this state, not alone. I should—“

“I’m not leaving the house,” Will snapped, jerking away from Victor. “Fuck off.” He felt liking running, but he didn’t know where to. He felt like curling up and sobbing until he was empty, but that was far less appealing. Instead, he made his way to the liquor cabinet and yanked out every single bottle he could find, wondering how much he would have to drink before he passed into oblivion.

* * *

Molly was just leaving the dress shop to meet Will when she ran right into him outside of the doors. He reached for her and held her by the shoulders tightly, leaning down and kissing her sloppily before she shoved him away.

“Will? What has gotten into y—“

She stopped when she finally got a good look at him and her blood ran cold. He was drunk. His eyes were glassy, rimmed red and puffy from tears. She could see drying tear tracks down his face. His hands were shaking and he reached out for her again, clutching at her shoulders tightly to keep himself standing. She let him.

“Will?” she spoke softly, carefully, as she maneuvered them both back inside the shop. She met her cousin’s eye briefly and shook her head before leading Will into the back room and sitting him down carefully.

“Will what’s happened?” she asked.

He looked at her with his bleary, tear-stained eyes, and tried to stumble back to his feet, nearly falling flat on his face.

“Will!” she snapped, frowning at him. “Stop. Sit still and tell me what the bloody hell is going on!”

She folded her arms over her chest and stared sternly at him. The glare seemed to have no effect whatsoever on the drunken man and she huffed.

“I’m fine,” he said. “It’s fine. We’re all… _fine_.”

She frowned and sat down next to him, putting a hand on his knee.

“Will, talk to me. Please. What’s happened?”

Will turned to look at her very slowly and lifted a hand to cradle her cheek before he kissed her again—all wet and sloppy and tasting like whiskey. She pulled away.

“Please,” Will practically whined. “Please kill me, Molly. Just kiss me, hold me. Touch me. I need to… feel something else. Something that doesn’t hurt.”

Molly blinked at him, her frown softening just slightly.

“Tell me, Will,” she said. “Tell me what happened.”

He looked away and his throat tightened. “Remember what I told you before? About how people die? About how it’s ugly and it happens all the time? How something bad happened because of dead people I don’t know.”

He was rambling, the words slurred and hard to decipher, but she nodded. “I remember,” she said. “What about it?”

He reached out and his clumsy fingers found her hand, clutching at it like a lifeline. “This time it’s dead people I do know,” he whispered, his voice cracking as he started to sob. He took in several shaking, heavy breaths before continuing. “My sister… Oh God, Molly, my sister…”

His words fell apart then, breaking down into nothing but messy, drunken sobs. Molly disentangled their fingers and pulled him toward her, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He smelled so strongly of alcohol that Molly’s stomach turned, but she just held him tighter, carding her fingers through his hair and letting him cry on her dress.

He kept talking, unintelligible words. Every now and then she would catch a name—Mischa—but nothing else. It must have been an hour before he finally stopped. He’d fallen asleep. His breathing was hitched, but mostly even and she gently shifted them until he was lying down on the workbench.

She found a stray blanket and used a bundle of cloth as a pillow for him, pressing her lips together anxiously. Leaning down, she kissed his cheek softly and ran her fingers through his hair one last time before taking a seat across the room one of the two rickety wooden chairs. She crossed her legs and watched the rise and fall of his chest, knowing that things would not be much better when he finally woke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... yeah. This chapter made me cry while I was writing it. Poor Will...
> 
> All mistakes are my own. Any comments and critiques are welcome!


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks guys for your comments and kudos and support. You're awesome!

_New York – January, 1947_

The meeting between the Five Families had taken time to set up—each Family was visited by ambassadors of the Lecter Family, extending an invitation to peace negotiations, waving the white flag of surrender, so to speak. Calls and invitations went out all over the country, extending invitations to the other Families across the United States because, as Robert had explained, this business of war in New York affected them too. The more violent and bloody the fight in New York became, the more the police and FBI would push back against the Mafia in their own cities.

Robert Lecter, though still weak and likely to never return to his original vitality, stepped back up at the head of the Family and Hannibal relegated himself to standing at his uncle’s side, quietly listening to and watching his every demand and move. In private, he sat most of the time, behind his desk, and listened as Hannibal and Tobias filled him in on details of the war. He had a thoughtful look on his face, a determined and dark glint to his eyes. Hannibal was convinced that he had absolutely no plans on keeping this peace indefinitely.

For the time being, however, Hannibal merely stood as his Uncle’s second in command, hovering over him in case he needed something. Tobias made arrangements to use a conference room in a bank—on neutral grounds, away from the other Families’ territory.

he name Mischa was not spoken in the Lecter household after the funeral. It was a quiet, small affair consisting only of those closest to the Family—Robert, Theresa, Hannibal, Tobias, Gideon, Dolarhyde and a few other loyal men.

Hannibal stood stoically beside his aunt and uncle, a perfect mask of cold rage on his face. He rarely spoke, except to Robert, and even then only when absolutely necessary. Something dark and twisted was growing inside of him. Even knowing that his uncle was planning something, some form of revenge for what had been taken from them, did not appease his bloodthirsty thoughts. He wanted to take each and every member of the opposing Families and rip them to pieces. He wanted to hurt them as badly as he had been hurt. He wanted them to _suffer_. He wasn’t sure that his patience would hold out for very long against his need for blood.

When the day finally came that the meeting was to take place, Hannibal dressed mechanically. His suit and tie were black, still mourning his little sister. He moved with a sharp, practiced indifference and his eyes were distant, icy pinpoints of red so dark they nearly appeared black. He was met in the foyer by his uncle and Tobias, but no one else. Gideon was already outside, waiting by the car to drive them into the city.

It was a silent drive. Tobias sat beside Gideon in the front seat and Hannibal sat with Robert in the back. Robert was pale, but that same determined look twisted his features into something hard and fearsome. Hannibal had no doubt that his uncle would get what he wanted from the meeting; no matter how weak the other Families thought they were, they would know that it would be unwise to test a man grieving and angry, especially when the death was that of an innocent.

When they arrived at the bank, Tobias, Robert, and Hannibal exited the car. Gideon stayed behind, watching them enter the building with a worried expression on his face.

The main lobby was a wide, open space with an opulent chandelier hanging down from the ceiling, the little crystals glittering in the yellow light. The floor was heavy marble and the walls were painted a golden color. Paintings hung in gilded frames along the walls and several small sculptures dotted the space.

They passed the few bank patrons waiting in line to speak to the tellers. The conference room was upstairs, separated from the main area. The doors were standing propped open as Tobias led them down the hall, and they could hear the hum of voices inside. The others had already arrived, ahead of schedule. Robert would be annoyed by that, Hannibal knew. His uncle liked to be the first to arrive and the last to leave, especially given that he was the host.

Tobias stopped just outside of the entrance and waited for Robert to catch up, careful to let the older man enter before he did. He and Hannibal walked just a bit behind Robert as he stepped into the room.

The low din of voices cut off as soon as they were spotted. The silence lasted for several seconds before whispers flared up. Hannibal caught snatches of them: _he looks ill…—Is he limping?—can’t possibly expect us to—_

He tuned them out and kept his gaze focused on his uncle as he made his way to the head of the table. Once he stood there behind his chair, everyone in the room rose and nodded briefly in greeting. No one offered words of condolences. They were past that already and this was not personal; this was business.

Hannibal recognized the heads of the four other New York Families quickly: Stracci, from New Jersey; Cueno, whose reach stretched from the upstate all the way into Canada; and Barzini, who had gambling operations and brothels in Brooklyn and Queens, who controlled every criminal operation on Staten Island, who had close friends along the West Coast in California and even some ties in Las Vegas. And of course there was Phillip Tattaliga, sitting near the opposite end of the table and not quite looking at Robert.

Hannibal’s eyes lingered on Tattaliga the longest—a short, portly man with thinning hair in a cheap suit. His upper lip curled at the sight of him, but he forced himself not to react otherwise. Looking at the man now, he had to wonder how he had ever managed to lead the war against their Family.

The man was all greasy smiles and eager nods—nothing about him seemed like the type of man who could run an army. Hannibal suspected that it was the support of Barzini that had kept his Family afloat during the war. He noticed that most of the men in the room seemed to avoid Tattaliga. He had not been well-liked before the war, and now that he had caused the death of a civilian—a taboo amongst the Families—and a woman at that, most refused to pay him any respect he may have earned for nearly defeating the Lecter Family in the war.

There were several others in room apart from the Five Families, though Hannibal was not so sure about these men’s names. They were the heads of the other Families. Not every Family was present—but he counted at least ten, accompanied by trusted advisers. No one in the room was under fifty save for Hannibal and Tobias. Neither of them said anything, and stood behind Robert’s chair as he greeted the Families and smiled congenially.

The meeting proceeded slowly—first drinks and quiet discussions of business. No one spoke of the war, or of the death of Lecter’s favored niece. Tattaliga and Lecter stayed on opposite sides of the room and did not so much as glance each other’s way after the initial greeting had passed. Hannibal and Tobias stood against the wall and watched, keeping careful eyes on Robert as he moved around the room. He was all smiles and warm handshakes, even embracing a few of the men as old friends. It was oddly friendly.

Still, after drinks Robert moved back to the head of the table. Tobias pulled his chair out and Hannibal watched for any sign that he needed help sitting. He managed it well enough on his own and covered a grimace expertly. He had told Hannibal to keep his distance, not wanting to appear weak in front of the gathered men. Once Robert was seated, the room fell silent. The other Dons took their seats at the table. The meeting had started.

Robert Lecter was the picture of professional stoicism. He thanked them all for coming, for being willing to listen to his plea for peace. He assured them all that he was not here to fight them, to bully them, to intimidate them. He was careful with his words, speaking of the integrity and honor that they were supposed to have amongst one another.

And then his perfect mask slipped and his eyes tuned somber. He shook his head sadly as he looked around the room at each of the faces. He placed his hands on the table and sighed heavily.

“How did things ever get this far?” he asked. He looked deliberately from Stracci, to Cueno, to Barzini and finally to Tattaliga before turning his attention to the room as a whole.

After a moment, he continued.

“I suppose it does not matter now. What has been done is done and cannot be changed. It was unfortunate, and unnecessary. Perhaps my boys were a little too bloodthirsty, too ready for revenge to listen. Perhaps you would not have been swayed even if they had been. Perhaps we are all at fault for not trying to settle this like reasonable men from the start. Who’s to say?”

He tapped his fingers on the table. “I am just thankful to God that I am able to sit here now, with you all, so that we may do what should have been done from the beginning and settle this matter like the reasonable men I know we are.

“This started because of one man,” he said. “Chilton. He is dead now, and not anyone’s problem or concern so I think we should be able to have this conversation without the clutter of his greed and impatience. He came to me with a deal, asking for my Family to fund his drugs operation, to smuggle heroin into this country to sell. I turned him down.”

He paused and tilted his head, eyes boring into Tattaliga for a long moment.

“I have no interest in this drug trade. I believed—still believe that it is a risky, dangerous business. I am a simple man with simple vices. I wanted no part of Chilton’s deal or his operation. However, Chilton took my refusal badly. He brought this war on our heads. I am sure that each of us can attest to the damage this war has done to our Families. Tattaliga has lost a son. I have lost a niece.”

He pressed his lips together and closed his eyes.

“I have a son who cannot return home because of this mess. He has not seen his family in far too long. Given peace, I plan to make arrangements to bring him home where he belongs.

“We have all lost people. We all have our own tales of loss to tell. I am here to say that I want us to put that all behind us. I want this war, this death and bloodshed, to be in the past. I want us to have peace. That is what I want.”

He stopped talking. It was quiet for a while before Barzini leaned forward, speaking calmly, carefully and respectfully.

“Of course,” he said. “That is all very true, but you have neglected to remember that without your support, the Tattaliga Family, any of the rest of us, who wanted to do business with Chilton—or enter into the drug distribution business at all—would not have been able to. Your Family has the most money, the most political power and your refusal bars us all from a profitable business. What is the point of you having all of this power, if you are not willing to share a little of it with us?”

There were quiet murmurs of agreement before Robert spoke again, his tone sharp and tense, slightly insulted.

“When have I ever refused a favor?” he demanded. “When have I ever turned down a friend in need? Had any of you come to me and asked for my assistance, do you think I would have turned you away? No. You all know me. You know that I am a generous man. I do not make judgments about how a man makes his living.

“Let me state here, now, that if any of you want to get into this business, I will not stop you. I am happy to lend my funds to you—so long as it is regulated and carefully controlled, I will give you my blessing and will not stand in your way.”

Some of the tension seemed to leave the room then, the other Families relaxing. Barzini watched Robert carefully, but nodded gratefully and apologized for any offense. The discussion of how precisely they would regulate and control and drug trade went swiftly—making sure that their men had no records so that they would not spend large amounts of time in prison if caught, keeping it to carefully specified areas and staying away from the Lecter Family’s territory.

Everyone seemed appeased. Everyone except Tattaliga, who still shifted nervously in his seat and watched Robert with skeptical, anxious eyes.

“I agree with what has been said here,” Tattaliga said. “And I am willing to accept a peace. I am willing to forget my own misfortune, but I am not so certain about Lecter. I want strict assurances from Lecter that there will be no individual vengeance taken out on me or my Family for the tragedy that has befallen him. How will I know that he will not decided in three, four years time that he has been ill-served? I do not want to constantly be on my guard against him. I am giving my assurances now that I will go no further in attempts to avenge my son. I want Lecter to give the same assurances.”

Hannibal shifted where he stood, his heart suddenly feeling tight in his chest and his blood pulsing hotly in his veins. He stared at Tattaliga and wanted to strangle him, to rip him open with his bare hands, for daring to make such a statement after the damage that he had done.

Robert sat straighter in his seat and stared at him. The room had fallen deathly silent again. Slowly, Robert stood, his chair loudly pushing against the floor. He looked around at everyone gathered and his eyes blazed brightly. There was no question about it then, in any of their minds—he was most assuredly not weakened or defeated by his wounds.

“What manner of men are we, then, if we do not have our reason? We would be no better than animals.” He stared at Tattaliga, his gaze flinty and dark. “Why would I start up this awful bloodshed once more, after we have finally managed a hard won peace? I have lost my niece; she was like a daughter to me. That is my misfortune and mine alone to suffer. Why would I make the innocent around me suffer for it as well?”

He rested his hands on the table, splaying them out wide. Hannibal guessed that it was for support as his uncle sounded somewhat short of breath, but the weakness did not show in his stature.

“I give you my word, on my honor, that I will never seek vengeance for her death. I will never seek to know of deeds that were done in the past. I will put it all behind me. I will leave here with a pure heart.

“I swear that as long as I am responsible for my Family, there will not be a finger lifted against you or any man here without provocation and just cause. I am willing to forgo my vengeance for the common good. This is my word, this is my honor, there are those of you here who know I have never betrayed either.”

He paused and stood straight again, lifting a hand and looking directly into each of their eyes one by one.

“But I have selfish reasons. My youngest son, who may not be mine by blood but who is as much a part of my family as my niece—he has been forced to flee this country, accused of Chilton’s murder and that of a police captain. I must now make arrangements so that he can come home with safety, cleared of all those false charges. That is my affair and I will make those arrangements. I must find the real culprits perhaps, or perhaps I must convince the authorities of his innocence, perhaps witnesses and informants will recant their lies. But again I say that this is my affair and I believe I will be able to bring him home.”

His eyes flashed.

“But let me say this. I am a superstitious man. If some unlucky accident should befall him, if some police officer should accidentally shoot him, if he should hang himself in his cell, if new witnesses appear to testify to his guilt, if a bolt of lightning comes and hits him on the head—then I will blame some of the people here. If his plane should fall into the sea or his ship sink into the ocean, if he should catch a fever, or if his automobile is struck by a train, such is my superstition that I would blame some of the people in this room. And that—that I will not forgive.”

His words hung in the air, heavy and full of deadly seriousness. Hannibal found himself smirking slightly, his lips twisting just a bit. He knew that none of them would be stupid enough to try and harm Will after that speech. No one would dare.

“But that aside, let me swear that I will not be the one to break the peace we have come to here today. We are better men than that, better than petty, violent killers. We have our honor and our integrity.”

He stepped away from the head of the table then, carefully, and made his way to the opposite side, to where Phillip Tattaliga was seated. Tattaliga rose from his chair and they embraced as the other men in room erupted in applause and congratulations, celebrating the peace and the forgiveness between the two men.

Hannibal watched it with cold eyes and said nothing.

* * *

Once they climbed into the car, Robert began speaking immediately.

“I want arrangements to begin immediately,” he said. “I want Will home as soon as possible. Contact our people in the papers, and anyone we still have in the NYPD. Find the witnesses from the night of the shooting. Talk to them. I want this matter sorted.”

“Of course,” Tobias nodded quickly.

Hannibal let the sounds of their voices fade into a buzzing background noise while his uncle told Gideon he wanted him to stay at the house when they arrived, he had a job for him. He only heard in passing when Robert told Tobias that he wanted him to look into something in Vegas—casinos. His uncle had been interested in branching further out and once everything was settled, the expansion would start.

Hannibal, however, was allowing himself to breathe. Once things were back on track, Will would return home. Once Will returned home, his uncle would begin preparing to retire permanently. And once he was no longer head of the Family, they would secure a niche in Las Vegas, a safe place to start over. They would prepare to move out of the city.

And then, _then_ they would strike.

Hannibal’s blood sang with the eagerness for that day, the day when they would remind the other Families exactly why they had feared the Lecters for so long. That day could not come soon enough. And then he would have Will, by his side where he belonged. Alana Bloom would not take much more pushing to get her to give up on Will, he was sure, and Will’s new friend Molly would be left behind in Paris where she could not reach him. He would see to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: most of the dialogue this chapter was taken from the novel or the film. I rewrote and reworded as much of it as I could, but it's all still probably very familiar to anyone who's read the book or seen the film. Almost the entirety of Robert's last speech (given after Tattaliga demands that he promise not come after him for Mischa's death) is lifted directly from the novel, with a little bit of the film speech as well and some small changes of my own.
> 
> This is one of my favorite scenes in the film so I hope that I did it justice--I tried to make sure that I wasn't just copy-and-pasting Puzo's writing here, but, as I said, that last speech is nearly verbatim from the novel. It's one of my favorite speeches and I didn't want to change it too much because it was so perfect.
> 
> As always, all mistakes are my own. Any comments and critques are welcome!


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up, guys. This chapter is Not Good. Again.
> 
> Also, there is a possibility that I won't be able to post a new chapter next Friday. I'm leaving probably Monday or Tuesday to visit family and I don't know when I'll be back. Also, when I get back I might have family coming to visit me, so. If I can, I shall update, but if not, that is why.

_Paris – May, 1947_

Will was with Molly when he received the call informing him that they were beginning to get the paperwork ready to bring him home.

He tugged on a shirt and a pair of trousers as he rushed to the phone, the early morning sun streaming in through the windows. Molly followed behind him, reluctant to let him out of her sight ever since that drunken nights months earlier when he’d learned of his sister’s death. He hadn’t quite stopped drinking and his nightmares were more frequent, but Molly stayed with him through it all, holding him when he shook from the dreams and scolding him as she cared for him after a late night of too much whiskey.

“We will send you tickets to board the next boat to the US,” Hannibal told him. “You’ll have to take a plane to get back to New York, unfortunately, but it is the fastest way that we can get you home. Everything should be ready for your return within the next two weeks or so.”

Will felt strangely hollowed out as he listened to Hannibal tell him about how close he was to finally returning home. Molly’s hand was resting in his; he clutched at it like the lifeline it had become.

“What about Molly?” he’d blurted the words before even thinking them through. He hadn’t actually asked Molly if she would be willing to return with him to the States. He had no idea what she wanted to do. Molly frowned and raised a brow.

Hannibal paused and his voice was stiff when he replied. “What about her?”

“I—“ Will hesitated. “She—I want her to go with me. Home, I mean. I’ll need an extra ticket for her if she decides to come.”

Molly grinned as he glanced cautiously up at her. Some of the tension in his chest dissipated.

“We don’t have time to delay finding out her choice, Will.” Hannibal sounded aggravated. “If you have not already figured out what her plans are then I’m afraid we’ll have to proceeded without her. We can always have her brought over at a later date.”

Will pulled the receiver away from his face and turned to look at Molly fully. “Will you? …I mean… do you want to come with me? You don’t have to—“

Molly sighed and leaned down, kissing him softly before he could finish his sentence. “Do you really have to ask, Will?” she said. “Of course I’ll go with you! I wouldn’t just leave you alone after all we’ve been through.”

Will grinned and kissed her, a little harder than she had kissed him.

“She says she’ll go,” Will said triumphantly, something that felt suspiciously like happiness filling him up inside. He hadn’t felt this light since before his uncle had been shot. It was almost unfamiliar after all the time passed.

“…She’s there with you?” Hannibal asked.

“Of course,” Will said.

Hannibal cleared his throat and made some noise Will couldn’t quite identify over the phone. “Alright then. I shall make sure that we have tickets for the both of you.”

“Thank you, Hannibal,” Will said, relieved at how easily he had gotten his brother to agree to Molly returning with him. He’d thought he would have to fight him more on that. Perhaps Hannibal was finally beginning to accept that Will had moved on and was determined to marry and have a family apart from him.

He looked at Molly dubiously after he hung up. She raised a brow and smiled at him, sitting on his lap and putting her arms around his neck.

“What is it?” she asked. “You’ve got that look like you’re thinking too hard about something.”

He laughed lightly and shook his head. “Are you sure about this? Going with me to the US, I mean? You didn’t think about it very long. Your life here—“

“Was never supposed to be permanent,” Molly cut him off. “I told you before. I came here to get away from bad memories, to find a fresh start.” She smiled at him and brushed her lips gently over his. “I found it.”

He clutched at her waist and chewed on his lip. “You’re sure? It’s a big change, Molly. I don’t want to pressure you into anything.”

She laughed that laugh that made Will want to never let her go—her head tossed back slightly, her entire body shaking with it. Her eyes sparkled as they met his.

“You could never make me do anything I didn’t want to do, Will,” she said. “Don’t worry. I want to. I’ve heard so much about this mysterious family of yours that I’m curious. …Besides, maybe if I stick around long enough you’ll make an honest woman out of me.”

It was Will’s turn to laugh then. “I doubt that,” he said.

“Mmm, you’re probably right. Besides, I have no interest in being an honest woman.” Her eyes gleamed brightly. “I _do_ want to meet your family though. And New York sounds like a lovely city. I think we’ve seen everything there is to see here by now. It’s definitely time for a change.”

Will smiled and pressed his forehead to hers, keeping her gaze lock on his.

“I don’t know what you see in me,” he said. “I’m a borderline alcoholic suffering from violent nightmares. And let’s not forget that I’m also a murderer.”

Molly leaned back, squinting at him.

“Borderline?” she asked. “You, Will Graham, are _dependent_ on alcohol.” She shook her head. “You’re also honest and funny and ridiculously self-depreciating to the point that I worry about your state of mind sometimes.” She grinned a wicked grin then and kissed him full on the mouth, pressing her tongue past his lips to taste him.

Pulling back she kissed him once more, a quick pressed of lips on lips. “And you are one _fantastic_ lover as well.”

She slid from his lap and took his hand again, tugging him up. “It’s still far too early for this sort of conversation,” she said. “I don’t have to go into the shop today and your bed is so very comfortable.”

He chuckled and let her lead him down the hall and back to the bedroom he’d claimed as his own.

“What happened to savoring the beauty of Paris?” he asked.

“Seen it all, remember?” she grinned cheekily and yanked Will through the door, practically pushing him down on the bed before crawling up to join him.

* * *

By the time everything had been settled and the tickets had arrived, Will had lost some of his eager happiness. It wasn’t helped by the fact that the tickets were accompanied by a letter from Hannibal telling him that Winston had finally passed on. He clutched at the small sheaf of paper with his brother’s neat handwriting and fought not to let the tears overwhelm him.

He’d known that Winston was dying. It wasn’t that it came as a shock to him—it was more that it seemed the longer he was away the more his life there was being broken apart bit by bit. Hannibal certainly wasn’t the same as he had been. His uncle wasn’t the same. Alana had given up on him. Mischa was gone and now Winston as well.

He felt a pinch in his gut as he pushed the paper into his pocket and scrubbed his hands on his pants to try and ease their trembling. He wanted nothing more than a drink and to have Molly there with him, to hold him and keep him from falling to pieces. But there was no more whiskey in the house and Molly was at the shop.

He glanced at the date on the tickets. Two days from then. He and Molly had both been packed and ready for the last several days, anticipating the arrival of the tickets at any time.

“Mr. Graham?” Louis was watching him carefully. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“These are the tickets for your return trip home? For you and Miss Foster?” Louis asked, eyeing the tickets with bright eyes.

Will nodded and straightened up. “Yes. I’m going to go meet Molly, alright? She’ll be leaving the shop in an hour.”

“I must insist that you stay here, Mr. Graham.” Louis stepped into his path, holding his hands up to stop him from heading for the door.

Will frowned. “What? Why? I’ve been going to meet her for weeks,” he said irritably.

“Mr. Lecter has asked that once the tickets arrive that we keep you in the house until you and Miss Foster are to depart. He is worried that perhaps someone might learn of your location before you leave and try to harm you before you are back under your uncle’s protection.”

Will scowled. Hannibal. Of course. He tried to push past Louis, but the man held his ground, shoving him back.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Graham—“

“Damn it, this is bullshit,” Will snapped. “Let me pass! I promised Molly I would meet her. I’m not just going to leave her standing there thinking I decided to abandon her.”

“I’ve sent Victor to collect her, Mr. Graham,” Louis said, his voice even and placating. Will ground his teeth and glared at him.

“ _I’ll_ collect her,” Will snapped, trying again to push by Louis. “She barely knows Victor.”

This time, when Will tried to muscle his way past him Louis grabbed his arms and shoved him into the wall, holding him there.

“I can’t let you do that, Mr. Graham. Mr. Lecter was very clear on his orders. You are to remain in the house, protected, until the ship departs. I know that it is inconvenient, but it is for your own safety. He feels that we have been lax about your protection since you arrived in the city.”

Will shoved Louis away and the man thankfully stepped back a few feet. He crossed his arms and glared at him hatefully.

“I’ve been fine this whole time. There’s no point to getting all worked up now that I’m finally about to leave,” he huffed. Louis simply gave him an apologetic look and spread his hands wide. Will clenched his fists and stared at him, anger and resentment boiling underneath his skin. He wanted more than anything to hit something—preferably Louis—but he forced himself to rein his anger in.

“Fine,” he said, his tone clipped. “I’ll just go wait in my room like a fucking child then, shall I?”

He spun and turned to stomp back to his bedroom. He was halfway there when Louis finally moved from his position directly in front of the stairs. Immediately, Will turned and raced for them, taking the stairs two and three at a time. The front door was mercifully unlocked and he could hear Louis chasing after him as he threw it open and ran out into the street.

He ran as fast as he could, legs burning and chest feeling too tight. It was swelteringly hot in the spring heat, even with the sun only hovering at the horizon. Louis was right behind him for several blocks as he ran, but eventually he lost sight of him, ducking down alleyways and tiny streets that he and Molly had explored but that Louis was likely unfamiliar with.

He finally came within sight of the tiny little dress shop and stopped running, giving himself a moment to breathe. He spotted Victor there, coming out of the front and shutting the door tightly behind him. He was alone.

Will frowned and straightened up, still breathing heavily from his run.

“Victor!” he called out to the man, half jogging toward him. Victor glanced up at his shout and froze, his eyes going impossibly wide. He stared at Will for the space of a heartbeat before taking off running in the opposite direction. Will frowned, watching him for a second before fear started to surge inside of him, his gut twisting painfully.

He turned away from Victor’s fleeing for and raced toward the shop as fast as his legs could carry him, screaming at the top of his lungs.

“Molly! Molly! MOLLY GET OUT OF THERE!”

But he wasn’t quite fast enough. Before he was even ten feet away the blast hit. The entire street seemed to shake with it and Will went flying backward, slamming hard into something before he fell onto his back, dazed and disoriented. The heat from the flames was unbearable and the smell clogged his nose. His eyes burned and he fumbled as he tried to stand, ears ringing loudly. Smoke slithered down into his lungs and he struggled to breathe properly with the ash filling the air.

He lurched forward in what he hoped was the direction of the shop, yelling even though he couldn’t hear his own voice.

“Molly!” he shouted, hoping beyond hope that she was still able to hear him. His world was tilting and crumbling down around him, but he kept on screaming, desperate and terrified.

“ _Molly!!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a bad person. Poor Will doesn't deserve this.
> 
> As always, all mistakes are my own. Comments and critiques are welcome!


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!
> 
> Sorry for the delay. As I said last update, I was visiting family and then family was visiting me. (They just went home last night, actually...) It's been a very long, but good two weeks.
> 
> Anyway. As usual, you guys are fantastic! Thanks to everyone reading this and extra thanks to those commenting! I really appreciate it.

_New York – July, 1947_

 

Nearly two full months after Will’s return home and Hannibal once again caught his adoptive brother sitting up in Mischa’s old bedroom with an empty glass, smelling strongly of alcohol. He sighed heavily as he lingered outside of the bedroom door. He had, of course, assumed that the death of Molly Foster—especially so soon after Mischa’s death—would do nothing to help Will’s state of mind, but surely it should not have affected him this badly.

Ever since he had arrived home he had been quiet. His eyes dark and hollow, sunken in from lack of proper sleep. He drank far more than he had before and he only ate if Hannibal forced him to. He hadn’t even seemed to react when Hannibal gently informed him that his beloved Winston had finally passed away two days before Will’s arrival.

He had stared at him, almost through him, and said nothing until Hannibal gently led him upstairs to his bedroom, where he had turned around suddenly and thrown himself into Hannibal’s arms and sobbed loudly. His eyes had taken on a suddenly wild, desperate look and he stared into Hannibal’s face. His body had begun to tremble slightly.

“Everything is falling apart,” he’d choked out. “I can’t take this anymore, Hannibal. I can’t. Why does everyone else around me die while I keep on going? They don’t deserve it.”

Hannibal had shushed him and carded his hands through his curls, and then he decided that it had been pertinent to stay up late and watch over Will’s sleep in case he decided to do something rash.

It had not been the reunion that Hannibal had hoped for.

A week after he’d returned home, Will was less catatonic, but Hannibal was no less concerned for his well-being. He came to Hannibal late at night and started asking questions—about Victor, the man who had murdered Molly.

“It seems that an unknown party contacted Victor and made him a generous offer to kill you before you arrived home,” Hannibal had told him. “Luckily for you, Louis followed my orders and delayed you long enough to allow you to escape the assassination.”

Will’s jaw had clenched and Hannibal realized he had chosen the wrong words.

“There was nothing _lucky_ about what happened that day,” he had spat viciously, glaring at Hannibal with a sudden fiery rage.

“Of course not,” Hannibal had held his hands up placating. “What happened to Miss Foster was horribly tragic. I merely meant that at least you were able to survive.”

Will said nothing and Hannibal had moved slowly, putting his hands on Will’s shoulders and tugging him a bit closer. He had then kissed the top of Will’s head and Will didn’t react at all.

“We are searching for Victor,” he had said softly, “to properly punish him for what he did.”

Will’s fists had clenched tightly and he tore himself from Hannibal’s hold, staring up at him with storming eyes. “Kill him,” he had snarled. Hannibal’s heart had soared to see such hate and vitriol in his brother. He smiled, just slightly, and had assured him that they had not planned to do otherwise to the traitor.

As the weeks turned into a month, and then two months, Will had improved very gradually. He still rarely spoke and his sleeping had obviously not improved. The one good thing that came out of Will’s return and slow recovery was his determination to help Hannibal and Robert with the Family affairs that he had once shunned.

He would sit with them for hours in Robert’s office, discussing their plans to take down the other Families, discussing the logistics of the move to Las Vegas, and helping them to plot out their vengeance with a zeal that Hannibal could not help but feel proud to see.

“It’ll take years to get everything ready,” Will had pointed out just the previous week.

Robert had nodded. “Patience is an important tool, William,” he had told him. “We all want to finish this, but you have to be willing and able to play out a long game if you want to get the best results.”

Will had made a face, but nodded. “And Mason?” he’d asked. “What about him? You’ve told us how we’re going to take out the other Families, but only Mason would have been able to tell Barzini where Hannibal was meeting Mischa that day.”

Hannibal had nearly beamed at Will, but restrained himself.

“We’ll take care of Mason last,” Hannibal assured him. “Let him believe that he is safe and has gotten away with it for now.”

Will had not seemed to like that idea. Hannibal couldn’t entirely blame him. He wanted to take Mason Verger apart piece by piece, but he knew that Mason would have to be saved for last. He wanted to lull the man into a sense of security, along with making the other Families think that the Lecter Family truly was going to forgo any and all vengeance over Mischa’s murder. If they killed Mason now, the other Families would grow nervous.

“We can’t have them getting suspicious after we’ve just assured them that we want nothing more than peace,” Robert had said. Will had nodded, though Hannibal could tell that he was more than willing to drop the pretenses and go after the Families right then if it meant getting revenge. He was still prepared to wait it out, however, and for that Hannibal could find no regret in causing him pain. He was becoming something ruthless and angry and vengeful and it was lovely.

And yet these visits to Mischa’s bedroom in the dead of the night still continued.

Hannibal cleared his throat and Will turned around, blinking at him slowly. His eyes were glassy and unfocused.

“Will, it’s nearly three in the morning,” he said. “You should get some rest. These sleepless nights are not good for you.”

Will stared down at his empty glass and shrugged. “Better the sleepless nights than the nightmares,” he whispered.

Hannibal entered the room, looking around at the pale walls and the large bed that was still covered in the lacy white duvet that Mischa had adored so much. She had not lived or slept in this house since her wedding, but this room still felt like her. The smells of her perfumes had not faded and if Hannibal closed his eyes he could imagine her as she got ready in the mornings, sitting at her vanity and brushing her shining hair, grinning brightly.

He ran a hand along the vanity, studying himself in the mirror for a moment before turning back to Will.

“She wouldn’t want us to dwell on her like this, Will. She would want us to remember her fondly. You are doing no one any good by tearing yourself apart this way.”

“Because you’re handling the grief so well,” Will snapped. “You and Uncle Robert are planning mass murder because of what happened to her. I am entitled to deal with my grief in whatever way I want.”

“The destruction of the other Families is not because of grief,” Hannibal said. “It’s because things cannot be allowed to continue as they have after the murder of an innocent.” His eyes flashed and he reached forward and took the glass from Will’s white-knuckled fist.

“And this is not dealing with your grief; this is avoiding your grief.”

Will glared and turned away, moving toward the bed. He reached out like he was going to touch it, but his fingers came to a stop just above the clean material. Hannibal sat the glass on the vanity and moved closer to Will, standing just behind him and not quite touching him.

“I know that it hurts, Will. She was my sister too. We are all hurting. There is no sense in forcing yourself to suffer alone.”

Will wrapped his arms around his midsection.

“I didn’t just lose Mischa,” he said quietly, so quietly that Hannibal barely heard him. He reached out and wrapped his arms around Will, pleased when the younger man didn’t protest the contact. He placed his arms just under Will’s own and pressed a soft kiss to the back of Will’s neck.

“I know. You’ve lost Molly as well. You’ve suffered a great deal of loss in a short amount of time and it’s unfair, but there is nothing you can do about it now, Will. They’re both gone. If you want to punish someone, punish those responsible for their deaths. Please don’t punish yourself for what isn’t your fault.”

“If I hadn’t met Molly—“

Hannibal squeezed his arms tighter around Will. “Don’t,” he said. “It isn’t your fault, Will. You did not kill her. She chose to be with you just as you chose to be with her. Neither of you are to blame for her death.”

Will slowly leaned back against Hannibal and Hannibal pressed another soft kiss into his hair. It felt so good to be holding Will once more, to have him pliant and vulnerable in his arms. He turned him around carefully so that Will’s chest was pressing against his, his arms still tightly around his middle. Hannibal tilted his chin up to make him look at him.

“You did not kill her,” he said. “Blaming yourself for Molly’s death would be like me blaming myself for Mischa’s.”

Will’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “You couldn’t have known,” he scrambled to protest. “There was no way for you to have guessed that they would do something so reckless.”

Hannibal smiled faintly. “And neither could you,” he said.

Will pressed his lips together and nodded. “It doesn’t make it hurt less that they’re gone.”

“Nothing will, I suspect,” Hannibal said softly. “But that does not mean that we should dwell on it. We can deal with our pain together. We can make those who took them from us suffer. That is all we can do.” He paused, studying Will’s glassy eyes and tired face. “Now, I think it’s time you went to bed.”

He started to drop his arms from around Will, but Will reached out and latched onto him, holding him to him. Licking his lips he stared up at Hannibal with pleading eyes.

“Just—just hold me for a minute,” he whispered. “Please.”

Hannibal nodded and pulled him close once again. “Of course.”

Will pressed his face into Hannibal’s neck and breathed deeply, his arms snaking around Hannibal’s back, fingers scrabbling to clutch at the fabric of his jacket. They stayed that way for several minutes before Will finally relaxed and let Hannibal drop his arms. He still kept in contact though, putting a hand at the small of Will’s back as he led him down the hall to his bedroom.

Will hesitated outside of the door and looked up into Hannibal eyes. He swallowed roughly. “Thank you,” he said, “for—for being here. For helping. I don’t want to think about where I would be without you.”

Hannibal smiled and gently cupped his cheek. “I’m always here for you, Will. No matter what.”

Will eyes watered and he nodded. “I know,” he said. “I know, I’m just… after everything I guess I’m just surprised that you still care so much.”

“I’ll never stop caring,”

Will smiled. It was faint and lopsided and it hardly reached his eyes, but it was a start. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Hannibal’s, softly and carefully. He pulled away quickly, but Hannibal caught him by the back of the head and pulled him forward again, kissing him more roughly. For just a moment, Will resisted, but then he melted into the contact and closed his eyes. He held onto Hannibal’s shoulders for dear life and parted his lips. He tasted of stale alcohol, but Hannibal didn’t mind so much when their tongues tangled together and Will let out a guttural moan in the back of his throat.

Will didn’t meet his eyes when the parted, but he was no longer trembling and he touched Hannibal’s chest softly as he stared at the ground.

“I—That—Good night,” he stumbled over his words and then turned, quickly disappearing into his bedroom and closing the door before Hannibal could say anything else. Hannibal stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door. It had taken a bit longer than he had anticipated, but it looked like Will was finally coming back around to where he wanted him to be.

His eyes sparkled like rubies in the dim hallway and he returned his bedroom with a renewed sense of joy coursing through his veins. Everything was finally falling into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies if this chapter seems lacking or subpar. I am exhausted right now and I feel like I could pass out any second. Like I said, it was a long two weeks and after taking my cousins home I didn't get back until after 1 AM. I hope this chapter isn't too terrible...
> 
> As always, all mistakes are my own. Any comments and critiques are welcome!


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit shorter than my usual chapters, but this one gave me some trouble. Sorry about that.
> 
> Thanks to everyone reading! I appreciate it. And special thanks to everyone commenting!

Dinner was a much quieter affair than it had ever been in the Lecter household. Will could remember meals from the past—his uncle talking animatedly to them, telling him about his day; Mischa talking about school and making gentle allusions to boys that she liked or making silly jokes to get Hannibal to laugh; his aunt insisting that they stop fooling around and eat properly. The Family business was never discussed at the dining room table.

Now, however, the light, comfortable atmosphere was gone. The air felt heavier, somehow, and there were no friendly, familiar words exchanged between family. Hannibal said rigidly silent beside Robert, and Theresa only made rare comments—attempting to get the men to brighten up. Will didn’t eat much, despite his aunt’s urgings and Hannibal’s obvious disapproval. He picked at his plate and at what he could, but he seemed to have permanently lost his appetite since returning home.

Nothing felt the same, though he had foolishly hoped that it would. Some days he found himself missing Paris, missing the warm afternoons when he would have lunch with Molly. Which was ridiculous—hadn’t he spent much of his time in Paris missing his home and his family?

He still thought of Molly often, of her smile and her laugh and the way her eyes seemed to see right through him. He tried to imagine her in this home with him—eating dinner at their family table, sleeping beside him at night, making inappropriate jokes with Mischa—but it hurt too much and he tried to put it out of his mind. He dreamed of her though, and of Mischa. And that made it all the harder to move forward.

He tried not to dwell on them and their memories, but that left him little else to focus on. He hadn’t been back to school, hadn’t even contacted any of his former friends from college, and he hadn’t even tried to call Alana. Part of him wanted to speak with her, but part of him remembered that she had moved on and he should do the same. A more vicious part of him reminded him of Molly and what had happened to her and he couldn’t pull Alana any further into his family’s world than he already had.

Instead, he spent every ounce of his energy that he could devoted to helping Robert and Hannibal plan their meticulous vengeance against the four other Families. He spent long hours with them, and Tobias, planning the move to Las Vegas. There was much to do and it had to be done quietly and slowly. He would have preferred to have it done as quickly as possible, but he did understand why it had to be slow.

After dinner he used to assist his aunt in the kitchen, cleaning the dishes and clearing away any leftover food. Since his return, he had taken to retiring to his uncle’s office with Robert and Hannibal. He tried to ignore his aunt’s worried gaze as he followed the two of them upstairs every night. He tried to tell himself that she was just worrying too much.

The office was dimly lit inside with nothing but two small desk lamps and the faint glow of the moon providing light; it was too hot for a fire, even at night.

“Have you spoken to Tobias yet about the casino?” Robert asked, sitting carefully in his chair. Will fleetingly thought that Hannibal suited the chair better than their uncle did at the moment. He chased the thought away quickly.

“He called this afternoon before his flight. He’ll be here tomorrow morning to give us full details, but he says that Moe Green definitely seems like the best place for us. Good business, in a wonderful location.”

Robert nodded. “Good, good,” he said. “We’ll discuss it further tomorrow then. I want you to get in contact with Mr. Green within the week, start the negotiations.”

“Isn’t that a little presumptuous?” Will asked, frowning. “We don’t even know if Green is willing to sell or not.”

“He’ll sell,” Robert said, his eyes gleaming confidently. “We’ll make him offer he can’t refuse.”

A chill went up Will’s spine at those words, but he suppressed the urge to shiver. He just sat back in his seat and nodded. He had heard Robert say those words a few times in his youth and they never boded well for whoever decided to try and refuse his uncle.

“It will be a long process at any rate,” Hannibal said. “We won’t be able to do much business over the phone. I expect we’ll have to meet face to face within the month.”

Robert nodded. “No later than two months,” he said.

“I want Will to accompany me,” Hannibal said.

Will blinked. “What? Me?”

Hannibal smiled a soft little smile that made something in Will rise up and want to punch him. “You want to be more involved in what we’re planning, correct? This is a perfect opportunity to see first-hand how our Family operates. Besides, it will be a good for you to get out of the house. You’ve never seen Las Vegas, have you?”

For a second, Will wanted to argue. He didn’t particularly want to go to Vegas and he didn’t want to sit through tedious hours of negotiation and paperwork. But Hannibal did have a point—he could certainly do with a trip out of the house and maybe he could even benefit from seeing how the Family handled business. All he really knew for sure was the more violent details of their operation.

“Alright,” he said.

Robert smiled, but there was a heaviness to the smile and Will tried not to think about it. He knew his uncle was just as worried about him as his aunt, even if he was better at hiding it. “Then it’s settled. We’ll speak with Tobias in the morning and contact Moe Green to start discussing the purchase of his casino.”

An pit of unease filled Will’s stomach and his smile felt forced, but he nodded along with Hannibal and tried not to let it distract him as his uncle and Hannibal turned the discussion toward other things—what was to be done about Mason Verger and their plans for the other Families. The talk dragged long into the night until Robert eventually retired at around one in the morning, leaving Hannibal and Will alone in the office.

Will stood almost as soon as Robert closed the door behind him and started to pace, feeling restless.

“I should… probably get to bed too,” he said. “It’s getting late.”

“You don’t usually retire so early,” Hannibal pointed out, standing as well and watching him with those unusual, all-knowing eyes.

“It’s been a long day; I’m tired,”

“Will,”

“Besides, you’re always telling me that I need to sleep better. To take better care of myself.”

“Will,”

“I’ve got a lot to think about, too. I think better after a decent night’s sleep.”

“Will!” Hannibal finally raised his voice, just slightly, and reached out to take him by the elbow, turning him to face him. Will stopped talking and stared ahead at Hannibal’s tie. His mind was a world away, thinking to the night before and the kiss that they’d shared. He had done a fair job of keeping his mind on other things since then, but it had lingered in the back of mind all day.

Hannibal reached up and tilted his chin just enough that he could see his face.

“If you aren’t ready to talk about what happened last night then we don’t have to,” he said.

Will relaxed and let out a heavy breath. “Thank you,”

“We will have to talk about eventually,” Hannibal said quickly, his eyes crinkling a bit though he wasn’t really smiling. “I’m willing to give you time to think though. You’ve been through a lot these last few months.”

Swallowing reflexively, Will nodded. “I just—I need to get my head around a few things. With… Molly and Mischa and Alana… everything just… it’s too much right now.”

“I understand,” Hannibal said gently. “Just know that you don’t have to avoid me, Will. No matter what happens I’ll be there for you, to talk or to listen or whatever you need me for.” He pulled him closer and Will went easily, resting his head in the crook of Hannibal’s shoulder.

After a few minutes, he pulled away and his eyes looked misty, but not nearly as bad as the previous night.

“I really should go to bed though,” he said. He slid out of Hannibal’s arms and pressed his lips together, staring at him longingly. He didn’t say anything and turned to the door, feeling Hannibal’s stare on his back as he turned the knob and pulled it open. Before he left, he looked back and drew up his nerve.

“Tomorrow—tomorrow night we’ll talk,” he said. “Just come to my room.”

Hannibal’s smile was full and wide, his teeth glinting a bit in the dull light. Will hadn’t seen that smile in a very long time and it sent odd shivers through his body.

“Our usual time?” he asked. There was a lighter note of humor in his voice and it felt good to hear it there.

His lips quirked up a bit and he nodded. “Just like always,” he said.

“Good,” Hannibal said. “We’ll speak then. I look forward to it.”

Will turned away before he could do or say anything too reckless. His head was too jumbled up to make decisions at the moment and he didn’t want to rush forward into something that he might regret. Hannibal looked so happy and hopeful, though, that he wanted to forget everything that had made him decide to end things in the first place. He needed some time alone to think properly.

Every step toward his bedroom killed him, but he forced himself not to look back for fear of seeing Hannibal standing in the hall watching him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, all mistakes are my own. Any comments and critiques are welcome!


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to everyone reading this! And special thanks to everyone who's commented! You guys are fantastic and I really appreciate the support!
> 
> Classes start back next week for me, so I'm not sure I'll be able to maintain my usual posts every Friday, but I will try and if anything happens to change my schedule I'll let you know as soon as possible.

The next morning was taken up by Family business. Hannibal and Robert didn’t even eat breakfast before heading to Robert’s office and shutting the door firmly behind them. Hannibal saw the frown on Will’s face as they disappeared inside, but Will knew what was happening today and what announcement Robert was making to the rest of the Family. It was a bit of a delicate matter.

All throughout the morning and into the afternoon Robert’s men were in and out of the office—exiting with looks of doubt and confusion. Tobias arrived after ten and nodded briefly to Theresa before disappearing inside the office as well.

It was nearly one in the afternoon before finally there was just Abel Gideon left and he entered through the kitchen door, smiling at Mrs. Lecter as he passed and heading straight for the stairs. It was stuffy inside the room after having been shut up all day—the curtains were thrown wide to let in the afternoon sunlight, but the space still felt somehow closed off from everything else. Gideon sat across from Robert and paid no attention to Hannibal or Tobias.

“Abel,” Robert greeted him with a genial smile. “Thank you for coming today; I know you’ve been busy since I took back the reins for the Family. You’ve been a loyal member of this Family for many years and for that I sincerely thank you. That is why I have called you here today…” He paused for a moment, but Gideon said nothing, waiting respectfully for Robert to continue.

“I’m an old man,” Robert continued, with a faint twinkle in his eyes. “I’ve been head of this Family for many years. I’ve watched it grow and flourish in ways I would never have expected. But it is time that I stepped down.” His eyes flicked to Hannibal for a second before looking back at Gideon.

“Which is why I am passing leadership of this Family over to my nephew, Hannibal.” He nodded to Hannibal briefly.

Gideon finally reacted, looking somewhat ruffled but ultimately unsurprised.

“Are you certain that that’s a wise decision? So soon after the end of the war?”

“I’ve spoken at length about this with Hannibal and Tobias,” Robert said. “It is for the best. As I said, I’m old. I’m old and I’m sick. I cannot hope to live forever, and the war proved one thing to me: the future is changing. It is time that someone younger and more able was running things.”

Pursing his lips, Gideon nodded. “I have every confidence in Hannibal,” he said. “He led us admirably in the war.”

“Good,” Robert nodded. “I have something else to discuss with you as well. You’ve heard about our recent scouting in Las Vegas recently, and there have been rumors among the Family about our plans there. I’ll tell you now: the Lecter Family is leaving New York, at least me and my family will be. You and many of the others will be left behind to see to our business here.”

Gideon’s brows shot up. “Leaving? For Vegas?”

“We are looking into more avenues of profit. The war did not do us any favors in that area; we lost a great deal of revenue because of it and New York has become an… unsavory place for us. There is money that can be made in these casinos and we aim to take it.”

Gideon frowned. “You’re stepping down and moving across the country,” he said. “If you go what’s to stop the other four Families from muscling in on our territory. We didn’t just lose profits during the war. It’ll be dangerous for any of the Family left here.”

“Perhaps,” Robert nodded. “We’re still seeing to the details. This transition is a necessary one, however. When the move does happen—which will be some time from now, I assume—I want you to oversee everything here in New York.”

Blinking, Gideon cocked his head to the side. “Everything?” he asked. “You’re asking me to take charge of all of our operations?”

“All of our operations here in the city, yes,” Robert said. “Hannibal will of course oversee the entirety of the Family businesses—the Unions, the gambling houses and the casino. You’ll be responsible for keeping everyone in line here and making sure that everything is running smoothly. You’ll report back directly to Hannibal.”

For a moment, Gideon was silent and then he nodded stiffly. “I’m honored,” he said. “I never imagined that you would choose me to fill such an important role. Thank you.” He bowed his head gently and stood to clasp Robert’s hand.

“I won’t let you down.”

After Gideon left, Robert sank down into his chair and relaxed. He ran his hands along the soft leather arms and turned to face his nephew.

“After tonight this will be your office,” he told him. He patted the chair’s arms gently. “This will be your chair. I’ll be here if you ever need my help, of course, but it’s up to you to see this through to the finish, Hannibal.”

Hannibal nodded seriously. “I will, Uncle.”

“Now,” Robert stood and looked to Tobias. “I believe that takes care of that particular business. I believe it’s time to contact Mr. Green and set up a meeting.” He moved toward the liquor cabinet and pulled out three glasses, busying himself with fixing them drinks while Tobias moved forward and began explaining the casino and hotel resort that Moe Green owned.

* * *

“How did it go?” Will asked, glancing over at Hannibal across the table. They were having a late lunch—Hannibal and Robert having missed it altogether while holding their meetings—and it was just the two of them at the moment. Robert had gone out to tend to his garden and Theresa had accompanied him, insisting that he not strain himself too much in the hot sun.

“Very well, I believe,” Hannibal said. “They seems upset about the change, but it wasn’t that long ago that I was in charge anyway. They’ll adjust.”

“And the move?”

“They are not so happy about that,” Hannibal admitted. “They’re worried about how it will affect them when we make the move. They believe the other Families will take advantage of our absence.”

Will pressed his lips together and nodded. He would have been concerned as well if he were in there shoes, but he knew they likely had little to worry about. Robert would never allow his loyal men to be abandoned without assistance and neither would Hannibal. It would reflect poorly upon him as a leader.

“Mr. Green, however, I believe will be… less than amiable about the sale of his property. We did not speak much, but he was very proprietary and suspicious of our interests in the casino business.” He made a face. “Very rude.”

Will smiled faintly. “I take it you didn’t propose a deal to him yet?”

“No,” Hannibal said. “We thought it best not to spring forward too quickly. I’ve set up a face-to-face meeting with him to discuss the business with him in two months’ time.”

“You’ll make the offer to buy him out then?”

Hannibal nodded. “He will decline,”

“You’ll work around that,”

Hannibal almost smiled. His eyes crinkled like was going to, but his lips didn’t quite seem to follow through with the movement. “Of course.”

“And you still want me to go with you when you make this trip?”

“I wouldn’t have said so otherwise,”

Will thought about that, chewing on his lower lip for a moment. He nodded, but said nothing else. Things were quiet for several minutes between them before the silence was broken by a swift knocking at the door.

“I thought you and Uncle Robert had already seen everyone?” Will asked, frowning as they stood together to answer the door.

“We have,” Hannibal told him. He peered through the windows beside the front door and frowned. Agent Crawford was standing on the doorstep, a resolute expression on his face. He nearly rolled his eyes as he pulled the door open, putting on as friendly and welcoming an expression as he could manage.

“Agent Crawford! What a surprise.”

Crawford merely nodded his head. “Mr. Lecter. It’s been a while since we last spoke, I know, but I heard that Will Graham arrived back in town a couple of months ago and—Mr. Graham!” He smiled when he spotted Will standing behind Hannibal. “So glad to see you’ve returned home safely. People were beginning to worry.”

Will shifted on his feet and stared the agent down. “I took a long holiday,” he said.

“Ah,” Crawford said. “Quite a long one. You were gone for more than a year.”

Will blinked. “I decided to travel a bit,” he told him. “I didn’t get much chance to take in the sights during the war.”

For a moment the agent seemed rebuffed. He nodded understandingly. “Of course, of course. Still, I’m sure you’re happy to be home again. I wanted to speak with you—“

“If you are still looking into the double homicide of Dr. Chilton and the police captain, I would insist that you speak with the New York police, Agent Crawford. The matter of those murders was closed some months ago and I think you’ll find that Will here was not responsible.”

Narrowing his eyes, Crawford smiled tightly. “Is that right? Well, I suppose I’ll do that then. I hadn’t heard.” His eyes flicked to Will again. “I’d still like to speak with you, Mr. Graham, if that’s alright…?”

“Unfortunately this is not a good time,” Will said swiftly. “I’m very busy helping my family at the moment.”

“I see,” Crawford said, his tone full of understanding that made Will wonder just how much he really did see. “Well then I’ll be on my way. Perhaps another time, Mr. Graham.”

“And perhaps, Agent Crawford, you could do us the courtesy of calling before you drop by?” Hannibal suggest.

“Of course, I’m sorry. I’ll do that. Goodbye Mr. Lecter. Mr. Graham.” He tipped his hat to the both of them and turned to leave, heading back to his car. Hannibal watched him go with narrowed eyes before carefully closing the door.

“I believe we may have to do something about Agent Crawford before too long,” he said. “He seems to have a habit of not letting things go.”

* * *

It was just after two in the morning when Hannibal made his way carefully from his bedroom to Will’s. Robert and Theresa had long since retired and there wasn’t a sound coming from their bedroom. Hannibal moved silently down the hall and tapped gently on the door. Will opened it almost immediately and stood aside to let him in.

He had been more talkative during the day, asking questions about how everything had gone, what Hannibal’s predictions were for the future, how he felt about being the head of the Family again. Hannibal believed he was trying to distract himself from the more personal issues he was trying to work out.

He hadn’t and didn’t expect Will to immediately resolve all of his issues in a single day, but he hoped that Will would at least make a step in the correct direction this time. He was tired of having to push and prod and wait for Will to come around.

Will waved him to a seat near the dark fireplace and handed him a glass of Scotch that he had apparently had waiting. Will was, for once, without his own glass and for that Hannibal was thankful. He wanted Will’s head clear for whatever was going to happen.

Will stared at his hands rather than his face and fidgeted for a moment before going still.

“This hasn’t been easy for me, Hannibal,” he said. “This… everything is still so fresh and raw from Molly and Mischa… I don’t know how to sort everything out inside.”

“That’s understandable,” Hannibal said softly.

“But—“ Will stopped and shifted in his seat, dragging his eyes up just enough so that he was looking at Hannibal tie rather than his hands. “But you make it _easier_. You make it seem like there is a light at the end of all of this darkness and I really need that right now.”

Hannibal was grinning wolfishly on the inside, but kept his expression carefully neutral as he nodded and listened to Will babble on.

“I just—I don’t want anything between us to be me taking advantage of that,” Will said. “I care about you, Hannibal, but what we’re doing—what we did—was _wrong_. Men don’t do that together, they aren’t meant to. And… and I don’t want to dive back into all of that because of a moment of weakness.”

Hannibal frowned. He sat the glass aside untouched and tilted his head to study Will.

“What is so wrong about how we feel, Will?” he demanded. “I’ve asked you before and I’m putting the question to you again. Our relationship is… unconventional, but our feelings for one another are pure, surely?”

Will shifted uncomfortably. “I never said that they weren’t, but—“

“And you enjoy what we do together.”

Will blushed faintly and looked down at his own hands, fingers twisting around one another.

“I do—I did—I… I don’t know.” He scrubbed his face with his hands and shook his head. “Hannibal, I still want to have a family. I—well I’m starting to think that perhaps that won’t happen for me. Maybe my luck is too bad. Maybe I’m going about it the wrong way, but I do want to have a family. I’m not ready to simply give up on that.”

“I am your family,” Hannibal said simply.

“Hannibal,” Will sighed.

“It’s true, isn’t it?”

“Of course it is, but that isn’t what I meant. I want children. I want a wife and a normal family.”

“Then I believe I must tell you that I agree; that will likely never happen for you. Not so long as you involve yourself with these schemes of revenge and pull away from everyone who cares about you.”

Will flinched, but shrugged. “I’m prepared to wait,” he said stiffly.

Sighing, Hannibal stood and approached Will. He knelt beside his chair and Will turned his head away, but Hannibal caught his chin and turned him back toward him.

“Will, listen to me. I care very much about you. I love you. You cannot pretend that you do not feel the same way about me. I can see it in your eyes, feel it in the way you kiss me, hear it in your words…” He could feel Will starting to tremble slightly beneath his fingers.

“Would it really be so horrid to continue as we were? To be together in spirit and body?”

He trailed a hand up Will’s thigh, resting it there gently. Will squirmed slightly under the touch but didn’t pull away.

“Sneaking around, hiding what we’re doing and pretending to be respectable people in the daylight?” Will scoffed. “Hannibal that’s not the way I want to live.”

Hannibal moved his hands from Will’s chin to his cheek, sliding his thumb across the stubble there. “Perhaps we won’t always have to hide.”

“Now you’re being ridiculous,” Will said, tugging his face away. “People would be disgusted. It’s perverse and wrong and filthy. It would ruin us and the Lecter Family.”

“I’d be prepared to lose it all if you would be with me again,”

Will frowned, studying Hannibal’s face. He knew he meant it—Hannibal would happily run away with Will to some far off place where no one even knew their names. He allowed himself to imagine that ridiculously optimistic view for a moment. He put his hand over Hannibal’s.

“I’m not,” he said. “I couldn’t ask that of you. I couldn’t do that to you.”

“Is it really so wrong? The way you feel? The way _we_ feel?”

Hannibal’s hand crept further up his thigh and Will squirmed again. He gripped one arm of the chair with a white-knuckled fist and gently pushed Hannibal’s hand away with his other hand.

“It feels good,” Hannibal said. “You enjoy it. Why are you fighting this so hard, Will?” He caught Will’s gaze and held him, forcing him to actually look him in the eye. Will stammered for a moment and finally managed to jerk his eyes away.

“I don’t know,” he whispered.

“Then stop,” Hannibal leaned in close, barely more than whispering now. “Let go of all of the doubt you have. Let me help you, Will. Let me be your paddle in this storm. Let me guide you through this pain. We can work it out together.”

His lips were very close to Will’s by that point and Will felt hot and his body was tingling and all he wanted was to throw away every single argument he had for why this was a bad idea. He thought about how good Hannibal made him feel, how much better things were when they were together, and he couldn’t come up with a single reason for why they shouldn’t do this.

He closed the short distance between their lips and kissed him. It wasn’t a long kiss, or a particularly deep one, but it seemed as if sparks leapt up between them as they touched and he figured that was sign enough that he’d made the right choice.

Pulling back, he smiled crookedly.

“You can be my paddle,” he said softly. “But… can we start over? Slowly? I still don’t want to rush into this. Everything still feels too messy.”

Hannibal smiled and stood, removing himself entirely from Will’s space. “Of course,” he said. “We will move as slowly or as quickly as you need, and in the meantime I will be here whenever you need me.”

Will seemed to relax at his words and he smiled gratefully up at him. Hannibal eyed him carefully, swelling up with pride and excitement on the inside. Finally, he had recaptured Will’s affections. It would not take too long before they were back to where they needed to be. He could be patient a little while longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All mistakes are my own. Comments and critiques are welcome with open arms!


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) Thanks to everyone reading and commenting! I love you guys!

_Las Vegas – September, 1947_

Moe Greene’s hotel and casino was nice. The room Will was given—adjacent to Hannibal’s—had a large, fluffy bet with clean sheets and an open bar. It was better quarters than his dorms at college had been, and far better than the barracks he’d slept in. Still, he decided that preferred his bedroom in New York. They had arrived in Las Vegas mere hours earlier and been led straight to their rooms, told that Mr. Greene was busy and would see to them shortly.

Tobias and Francis Dolarhyde—who had accompanied them for reasons that Will had not been privy to—were roomed across the hall, Dolarhyde going to his room without speaking at all. He rarely spoke anyway, though, so Will made nothing of it.

Will welcomed the chance to relax and catch his breath, but Hannibal had seemed upset. His mouth was a hard line as they exited the elevator and he hadn’t said a word to Will since. Tobias remained impassive, but he too was clearly not happy about the news.

Just as Will had finished hefting his meager suitcase into the wardrobe, there was a faint knock at the door followed by Hannibal’s voice.

“It’s me, Will,”

Will hurried to open the door and Hannibal smiled faintly when he saw him. His eyes were still dark with annoyance, however. “Since we’ve been delayed for the foreseeable future, I thought you might like to explore the casino a bit.”

Will raised a brow. “I thought you would consider yourself beneath such…” he frowned, searching for the right word. “Frivolity,” he finally managed. He smiled ruefully. “It’s somewhat ironic, actually, given your current profession.”

Hannibal would very likely have rolled his eyes—if he hadn’t also been above such childish displays. Will just grinned at him, feeling lighter than he had in several months.

“It would at the very least be educational for you,” Hannibal said. “A chance to see the casino and learn how it runs.”

Sighing at Hannibal’s sour mood, he grabbed his coat and waved him ahead. “Lead the way,” he said.

Downstairs, the casino part of the resort was louder than Will would have guessed. Voices babbled above everything else as waitresses handed out drinks and cigars and women in flashy dresses wandered the floor, eyes bright and searching. Machines clanged and chimed. It was a disorganized mess from Will’s perspective, but then, he’d never liked crowds and the loudness was unpleasantly grating after the war and… Molly.

He was grateful when Hannibal led him to the bar and ordered them drinks. He watched him for a moment, Hannibal’s eyes scanning the area with interest.

“Did you find out what’s keeping Mr. Greene?” he asked.

Hannibal made a face. “Nothing of importance, I’m sure.” Will turned to face him better, brows quirked curiously. “He has heard by now that Uncle Robert is no longer in charge. He’s likely less inclined to deal with me, and is trying to see how far he can push me.”

“Ah,” Will nodded. “Not very smart of him.”

Hannibal smiled, which Will took to mean that at least some of his good humor remained. “No,” he agreed. “Not smart at all.”

“How long are we going to wait then?” Will asked.

“I suspect that he will keep up the pretense of being busy elsewhere all night,” Hannibal said. “Which is unfortunate because we have to be back on a plane to New York early in the morning.”

“So?” Will frowned. “What are we going to do? We can’t just leave, right?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hannibal said. “We’ll find Mr. Greene and talk to him tonight. He can’t continue to labor under the delusion that the Lecter Family is one he can simply ignore because Uncle Robert is no longer in charge.”

Something about the way that Hannibal said that gave Will chills and he was reminded once more that Hannibal could be dangerous if he wanted to be. He fell quiet after that and left Hannibal to his searching of the floor, nursing his drink and trying not to look out of place.

Suddenly, Hannibal took Will by the elbow and steered him toward a table across the room where it looked like several people were playing poker. They came to a stop next to a man seated at the far left end, flanked by two women in glittering dresses. The man was about as tall as Hannibal was, with dark hair showing just a hint of grey and large glasses that had lenses which bore a yellowish tint. He had a cigar in one hand and was red faced—either from drinking or excitement Will couldn’t guess, but it seemed likely a combination of the two.

“Mr. Greene?” Hannibal’s voice was even and calm as always, but Will could hear the annoyance laced through his tone.

Moe Greene turned around; one brow was raised and he was already prepared to dismiss them with the wave of a hand. He stopped short when he spotted them and grinned wide.

“Hannibal! I was beginning to wonder when you would arrive,” he said.

Hannibal merely stared at him, not returning the bright—if a bit forced—smile. “Yes, of course. We’ve already been shown to our rooms. We were told that you were unavailable.”

Moe’s red face blanched; he had been expecting Hannibal to go along with him and not mention the discrepancy.

“There must have been some mistake,” Moe said quickly. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Indeed,” Hannibal said. “Perhaps we could continue our conversation upstairs? We’re on quite a short schedule.”

Moe tapped his cigar over the floor, spreading ashes just near Hannibal’s shoes. Hannibal took a small step back, barely covering a sneer. Will could feel his irritation and Moe’s complete lack of regard for it.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join us? Spend some time at the casino and have some fun? There’s really no rush.”

Hannibal’s smile was polite and stiff. “I’m afraid not,”

“Alright, alright.” Moe stood from the table, leaving the two women in charge of his hand and money, patting them on the ass as he departed to lead the way to Hannibal’s room. They followed at a short distance and Will leaned close to whisper.

“We’re going to make a business deal with _this_ man?”

Amusement sparkled in Hannibal’s eyes. “We must occasionally suffer a bit in order to keep making a profit, Will.”

Moe explained to them that there must have been a mix-up because he thought that their flight was arriving later and he hadn’t been notified that they were at the hotel. He apologized for inconveniencing them and asked—twice—that they pass his apologies on to Robert. Will wondered if one day people would behave that way toward Hannibal, and then he realized that many already did.

They met in Hannibal’s room, unsurprised to find Tobias and Dolarhyde already there. Tobias had set up a table for them to discuss their plans and was already seated with a briefcase sitting to one side of his seat. Moe greeted him with the same familiarity as he had Hannibal, just a hint of terseness in his tone. Dolarhyde sat apart from the group, on the small couch, and Moe said nothing to him.

“So, we’re here to talk business, am I right?” he asked, sitting loosely in the chair opposite Hannibal. Tobias sat to his left, and Will to his right, but he paid neither of them any attention. He paused for a moment, eyes squinting. “I hear you want to buy me out.” If Hannibal or Tobias were surprised that Moe had somehow learned their intentions they didn’t show it, so Will school his face into a carefully blank mask.

“I buy _you_ out, you don’t buy me out. I did your Family enough favors already, helping you get a foothold in with the other casinos. You don’t think I know you already practically own three?”

Will blinked. That was news to him. He’d known that they had been involved in business out here for some months before his return, but he didn’t know that they already were that close with other casino owners.

Hannibal sat forward and folded his hands carefully before him on the table.

“You’re losing money, Mr. Greene, against all odds. We believe that there may be something wrong with your operation. The Lecter Family can do better.”

Moe’s eyes nearly bugged out his head. “I do you guys a favor, helping you out with these casinos for months and that’s how you thank me? Trying to push me out?” he demanded, his face going red again. “No. I don’t get pushed out. I got friends that’ll back me up.”

Hannibal’s eyes flashed, but his face remained stone-like. “The Lecter Family paid you a large sum of cash for your help, funding your hotel. We do not owe you anything, Mr. Greene.” He paused, arching a brow. “Besides, with your casino losing money, we’re doing you a favor. We’ll pay you any reasonable price that you name.”

Moe narrowed his eyes. “You’re getting chased out of New York by the other Families and you think you can just come out here and take my business? No. The Lecter Family don’t have that kind of muscle anymore anyway. The Don is sick, and that war cost you too much money. You think you can just come out here and start over, like it’ll be easy pickings for you? I got some advice: don’t try.”

Hannibal regarded Moe placidly before standing and straightening his suit jacket. “I have to return to New York in the morning, so think about your price.”

“You son of a bitch! You think you can just brush me off like that?! I killed more men than you before I could jerk off! I’ll fly to New York myself and tell your uncle, I’ll make him offer!”

He stood from the table rapidly, nearly knocking his seat over in his haste. His face was livid and his hands were curled into fists as he slammed the door behind him. Will felt the tension in the air, coiled tightly in his gut. It made his hurt and his entire body ache. Tobias sighed heavily and stood, shaking his head.

“That could have gone better,”

“It went as well as could be expected,” Hannibal said. Tobias snorted and left the room, saying that he was going to get something to eat and then turn in for the night. Hannibal turned to Dolarhyde then, face expectant.

“You got his face?” he asked.

Dolarhyde smiled—and it was one of the most disturbing images Will had ever seen. He tapped his head with his finger and said, “Got it right here,”

“Good,” Hannibal nodded. “Remember it. You may need it later.” He dismissed him, not bothering to ask what the man planned to do.

Will frowned and fidgeted, “You’re going to have him killed?”

“If he won’t deal with us civilly then we haven’t got another choice,” Hannibal said smoothly.

“But—killing him?” Will shook his head, following Hannibal toward the bathroom of the suit as he undressed carefully. “Aren’t there other ways to deal with him before you jump right to murder?”

“Usually,” Hannibal said, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt and carefully pulling it off. “I doubt that any of them would work on Mr. Greene. Besides, he is an extremely unpleasant man.”

Will wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that. Moe Greene was not a good person, of course, but he wasn’t sold on the idea that he deserved to _die_ simply for turning them down. No matter how rudely he had done so.

Hannibal was suddenly right in front of him, smiling fondly. “Will, don’t stress yourself out about this. I’ve told you already, this is the way things must be done. Moe Greene is not an innocent man by any stretch of the imagination. Killing him is no worse than killing any other murderer.”

Will nodded weakly, still not sure how he really felt, but Hannibal was kissing him suddenly and he decided that he could think about it later.

“Were you planning to join me in the bath or just watch me undress?” Hannibal asked as he pulled away and began divesting himself of his trousers.

Will realized how very overdressed he was and put Moe Greene from his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of the dialogue between Hannibal and Moe Greene is either lifted directly from the novel, or paraphrased. 
> 
> As always, all mistakes are my own. Comments and Critques are welcome!


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a shorter chapter this time because I had to write it quickly. I'm actually about to leave for a few days, but I wanted to get this posted first. Don't worry, I will be back in time to make sure the next chapter is posted on time.

_New York – November, 1947_

Somehow, Will had expected that after the trip to Moe Greene’s casino things would move faster. He was wrong; everything still seemed to be moving along very slowly. He’d possibly go as far as to say that they weren’t moving along at all. It had been nearly two months and Will had heard nothing at all about where they were on the casino front, let alone when they were planning their strike against the other Families.

Hannibal spent long hours on the phone, talking to lawyers and discussing things with Robert. Even Tobias didn’t seem to be privy to all of the details of the plan. Will frequently saw him sitting in the kitchen with an annoyed expression on his face.

 “What’s going on with Tobias?” Will asked, sitting in the living room and staring into the fire. It was nearly midnight and the fire was dying down. He and Hannibal were the only two still awake in the house; Robert had taken to going to bed earlier than he once had ever since the assassination attempt.

Hannibal, who had just returned to the room carrying a tray of thin wafers and two mugs of coffee, paused. “What do you mean?”

“He seems… upset about something,” Will said.

“Ah,” Hannibal handed Will one of the coffee cups and sat the tray down between them on a small table. “He is unhappy that he is not serving in his usual capacity to the Family.”

Will raised a brow. “He isn’t?”

“No. He has been acting only as our lawyer for quite some time now. He resents it, I think. He’ll get over it.”

“But… why? He’s been working for Uncle Robert for years. He worked for you in the middle of the war.”

“Yes he did, and he did it well, but I feel, and Uncle Robert agrees with me, that the fewer people who know the finer details of what we are planning, the better. We cannot afford word slipping out.”

Will frowned, watching Hannibal’s face carefully. The dying firelight danced in his eyes and Will shifted uncomfortably. He got the feeling that there was a lot more to the story than what Hannibal was telling him.

“You don’t trust him?”

“I did not say that.”

“But you’re implying it,” Will insisted. “And you haven’t been telling me anything lately either. Do you not trust me?”

“Of course I trust you,” Hannibal said. “This is not about trust. This is about careful planning and good sense. The fewer people who know, the better our chances of success will be. When the time right, you will know everything that you need to know.”

“And you’ll decide what I need to know?”

Hannibal’s lips quirked just slightly. “Of course,”

Will huffed, but didn’t argue. He’d gotten used to Hannibal being insufferably evasive lately and he knew that he wasn’t going to tell him anything no matter how much be asked. “If you’re doing this to protect me because you think I can’t handle something—“

“I assure you,” Hannibal said, “I have learned that there is no need to protect you from these things. This is strictly a business decision.”

“You know I’d never tell anyone,” Will said. “I’m actually very good at keeping secrets.”

“I know,” Hannibal said. “And I trust you, Will. This isn’t about that.”

Will sighed. “Fine,” he said. “Keep your secrets. But I want to know what’s going on eventually.”

“You will,”

Will nodded and turned his attention back to the fire, taking a sip of the coffee Hannibal had brought him. He wondered for a moment at how different his life seemed to have turned out from what he had planned. No picket fences, no teaching post at a high school, no marriage, no children. No Alana. No Molly. He wondered how differently things would have turned out if his uncle had never been attacked, if he’d never killed McCluskey and Chilton. It was a hazy dream at best anymore and he tried not to dwell on it too often.

“You’re thinking very loudly,” Hannibal remarked.

Will blinked and jerked, nearly spilling his coffee. He turned to look at Hannibal, who was watching him passively.

“Sorry,” he said, pressing his lips together.

“What were you thinking about?”

Will shrugged. “The ‘what-ifs’,” he said. Hannibal raised a brow questioningly and Will continued, though he knew Hannibal probably wouldn’t like where his mind had been. “What things would be like if I’d married Alana. Or if Molly… if Molly were here. How different I am now than I was before Uncle Robert was shot. Everything changed so quickly, before I could blink I was a murderer and a fugitive and now suddenly I’m sitting here where I never expected to be, practically begging to be a part of a world I never wanted to even acknowledge.”

Hannibal’s expression was unreadable. He said nothing and Will didn’t press him for his opinion on his thoughts. He went back to drinking his coffee and contemplating life’s surprises and the unexpected twists and turns it could take. Before he realized it, the clock was chiming one and Hannibal was collecting their dishes.

“You should get some rest,” Hannibal told him. “You’re still not sleeping as well as you should.”

“You don’t have to mother me,” Will said. “I’m fine. Better than I’ve been in months in any case. Besides, I’m not tired.”

Hannibal eyed him critically and Will made a face.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he said. “I am a grown man, Hannibal. And you’re one to talk about bad sleep schedules. You usually run on one or two hours.”

“Yes, but I don’t generally require more sleep than that. You on the other hand are obviously doing your body and mind a disservice.”

Will fought the urge to roll his eyes and insisted on helping Hannibal clear the dishes away and wash them. Hannibal didn’t protest, but as soon as they were finished he guided Will upstairs with a hand at his back and the vaguest hints of threat if he refused to comply.

They stopped outside of Will’s door and Will crossed his arms, look up into Hannibal’s face. “I’m still not tired.”

“Go to bed, Will.”

Will tilted his head. “Would you go with me?”

Hannibal leaned down and tangled his fingers in Will’s hair, bringing him closer so that he could kiss him. Will moaned and arched into the kiss, pushing closer to the other man so that he could feel the heat of his body against his.

Hannibal pulled away, smiling faintly.

“Bed,” he insisted, pushing Will gently toward his door. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Will may have felt like pouting like a petulant child, but he finally relented and turned toward his bedroom.

“Goodnight, Hannibal,” he called over his shoulder. Hannibal’s eyes sparkled in response and he stood there watching until Will finally went inside and shut the bedroom door behind him.

* * *

The following morning Will woke early, the light still grey outside of his bedroom windows. He lay in bed for a moment, staring out at it and remembering the early mornings he’d spent in Paris with Molly. He felt an ache in his gut, wishing that she were there, that he could hear her laugh again. If he closed his eyes he could still see her.

He pushed her from his mind and forced himself out of bed, getting dressed slowly. Sometimes he could swear he could feel her phantom touch on his skin. Days that started like this one were rarely good days. He was usually good at keeping Molly or Mischa from his thoughts, but something he wasn’t successful and they seemed to follow him around.

Still thinking of Molly, he went down to the kitchen where Hannibal and Theresa were preparing breakfast together. He smiled faintly and sat down to watch them. Hannibal was usually busy so it was a pleasant surprise to see him there. He didn’t interrupt as they worked together in their own little world. It was like watching a dance—they moved around each other with a fluid, familiar ease and grace that made Will somewhat jealous. Nothing ever seemed to make Hannibal’s eyes as bright as when he was in the kitchen. Sometimes Will wondered why Hannibal had chosen to go to medical school rather than culinary school.

Then again, Will supposed he would find those chefs to be beneath him and incredibly tedious.

Uncle Robert didn’t appear for breakfast, but Aunt Theresa said that he had decided to tend to his garden and insisted that he was well enough to do so alone for a change. It was still early so she fixed his plate and sat it in the oven to keep warm.

Will went to the study, feeling Molly’s ghost trailing along behind him and hearing her commenting on all the books and scoffing at him for not having read them all already. He could still hear her when he collected the morning paper and skimmed over the headlines and when Gideon came by briefly to discuss something with Hannibal.

He could feel her breath on his cheek and her lips against his neck when he left Tobias in and then out again minutes later, his expression still one of annoyance. By lunch time Will had resigned himself to having Molly follow him around all day and he wondered if it were normal for ghosts to hang around as long as Molly and Mischa seemed to.

Hannibal emerged again from the upstairs office in time for lunch, and frowned when Uncle Robert again didn’t join them, and Will felt his gut twist when Aunt Theresa pulled the cold breakfast from the oven with a worried expression.

“Has he even been inside since the morning?” Will asked.

“He really should not over-tax himself,” Hannibal said. “He’s been so tired lately…”

Molly went with them as they went out to the garden to check on Robert. It was damp and a bit chilly out, but the sun was shining brightly. Theresa and Will started calling out for Robert when they didn’t immediately see him, but it was Hannibal who found him.

He was lying face down in the freshly turned over dirt, a watering can in his hand. Will was stunned silent for a moment, unable to process what was actually happening. He could feel the phantom touch of Molly’s hand against his own and clutched at it desperately, feeling her slip away quietly.

Hannibal knelt at Robert’s side and gently turned him over, pressing two fingers at his neck for a moment. He looked at them and shook his head and all Will could think was that Hannibal’s eyes were far too dark in the early fall sunlight.

Aunt Theresa let out a strangled sort of gasp and Will realized that maybe he should be reacting to what was happening, but something inside of him felt torn up and cold and he didn’t know what to do or say. He had no idea what he was feeling or if he was even feeling anything. He locked eyes with Hannibal and wondered if he feeling—or not feeling—the same way.

Somewhere, in the very back of his mind, it did click. Uncle Robert was dead. This time for real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really not sure if I like this chapter or not...
> 
> As always, all mistakes are my own. Comments and critiques are welcome!


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am actually really uncertain about this chapter... I really hope it doesn't suck.
> 
> As usual, thanks so much to everyone reading! You support and comments mean the world to me!

The funeral was extravagant. People from all over the country attended—heads of other Families, Politians in debated to the Lecter Family, Family friends, relatives from all around, the entirety of the Lecter Family itself. Will felt more than a little lost in the sea of black-clad mourners. If he hadn’t known better he would have sworn the entire city of New York had shown up to pay their respects to his uncle. He tried not to stray far away from Hannibal or his aunt during the proceedings. The church was filled to bursting and it seemed that even more people showed up at the cemetery afterwards.

The sky was overcast and grey. Will watched the clouds gather and darken as they stood around the gravesite. The sleek coffin rested just above the hole, waiting to be lowered down and covered over. Will, Hannibal and Theresa stood to one side, watching as the long line slowly made it way forward, dropping flowers on the coffin and occasionally whispering a few words of sorrow before moving on. Will recognized some of the faces—Gideon, Tobias, some of Robert’s men, Tattaliga and Barzini.

Will stayed mostly dry-eyed through it all, but there was a pinch in his gut and he felt hollowed out inside. It was the perfect sort of day for ghosts to hang around and Will felt certain more than once that he’d spotted Mischa amongst the mourners. He heard Molly’s rumbling voice and was convinced that Mischa had been calling out to him during the procession. He wondered how long it would be before he was haunted by his uncle as well.

Once the body was finally lowered into the ground and Theresa Lecter had said her tear-filled goodbyes to her husband, the crowd began to disperse somewhat. They mostly stayed nearby, giving their condolences to the family. Will stood awkwardly by Hannibal’s side as people came up to them and shook their hands and expressed their grief.

It was getting late in the afternoon and the cemetery had thinned out considerably when Tobias made his way to Hannibal’s side and took his hand in a firm grip. Will waited for the usual condolences and respectful words, but Tobias leaned in close and whispered something to Hannibal that Will couldn’t hear. He frowned as Hannibal’s lips twitched and he nodded curtly. Tobias said nothing else and slipped away quietly.

“What was that about?”

Hannibal glanced sideways at him, his eyes gleaming brightly.

“I’ll explain later,” he said. “It’s not important right now.”

Will didn’t believe him for a second. Hannibal was tense and alert as he thanked the rest of the attendees and Will knew it had something to do with whatever Tobias had told him. He tried to find Tobias in the crowd, but he seemed to have vanished completely, so he forced himself to be patient and wait for Hannibal to tell him what it was about. The burning curiosity didn’t leave him for the rest of the day and he had to bite his tongue to keep from pestering Hannibal on the drive home.

* * *

It was late at night when they finally found a moment alone in Hannibal’s bedroom. Will had stripped off his coat and tie earlier, but Hannibal was only just removing his waistcoat and loosening his own tie. Will watched him while he poured them drinks and sat down in one of the chairs beside the fireplace.

“Are you going to tell me what Tobias said, or am I going to have to beg?”

Hannibal eyed him critically as he accepted the glass from him.

“Now that Uncle Robert is passed on, the other Families wish to have a meeting to ensure that our peace will continue to last. Barzini spoke to Tobias at the funeral earlier today and asked him to convey a message: he proposes a meeting in his territory where my safety will be guaranteed. Tobias is to set everything up.”

Will narrowed his eyes. “Barzini’s territory? He’s the one who lead the war against us in the first place! You wouldn’t be safe there, Hannibal!”

“I know,” Hannibal said calmly. “I would be lead to the meeting and quietly assassinated. The Lecter Family would be crippled without a leader and Barzini would move in on our territories. We would be destroyed.”

Blinking, Will said, “You know what they’re planning? How—“

“Uncle Robert knew these men better than anyone else. Nearly fifty years they worked together, Will. I trust him to be able to predict their movements. Though, he certainly didn’t think they would pounce as quickly as they did, he knew that after he named me head of the Family it would happen.”

“You’ve been waiting for this.” Will sat back in his seat and stared at Hannibal.

Hannibal nodded curtly. “For quite some time, actually. It’s what we’ve been discussing—possible scenarios, how they would approach me, what we would do.” He paused and took a drink from his glass before meeting Will’s gaze again. “Tobias will be going between Barzini’s men and myself acting as an emissary of sorts. He will be in on their plan.”

“Tobias?!” Will shook his head. “Hannibal, he’s been loyal for years--!”

“And he does not trust nor like me,” Hannibal said. “He has been ready to get me out of the way since Chilton’s botched assassination attempt. This is simply the most convenient time for him to do it.”

Pressing his lips together, Will tried to wrap his head around it all. He had been waiting for something to happen, of course, but now it seemed like it had just jumped out in front of him without any warning whatsoever.

“Then what are you going to do?”

“Exactly what Uncle Robert planned for me to do. Tomorrow morning I will tell Tobias that I will meet with Barzini. Tobias will of course relay this news back to Barzini and they will set up the meeting in which they intend for me to die. I’ll then call Gideon in and tell him to ready his men and the plan we have been working on for some months finally be put into play.”

His eyes sparkled at bit and Will felt something like anticipation curl inside of him.

“You and I take a short trip into the city and have a talk with Mason Verger to find out precisely what happened the day that Mischa was killed. And then we will quietly take our leave of New York and head to Las Vegas.”

“But…” Will frowned. “What about Moe Greene? He hasn’t agreed to sell and—“

“He will be taken care of shortly,” Hannibal assured him. “Don’t worry, Will. Everything is going to work out perfectly.”

Will didn’t like the way Hannibal said the words “taken care of”. He knew what he meant and he wanted to protest, but he knew that he wasn’t going to convince Hannibal to change his mind. Hannibal had been more than ready to “take care of” Greene before they’d even left Vegas.

“And that’s it? Just like that it’ll all be over? You don’t think the police will ask questions? The FBI?”

Hannibal smiled at him and it was the most predatory grin Will had ever seen. He fought not to shiver as Hannibal’s teeth glinted like a shark’s.

“There will be no evidence against us, no proof that we have done anything wrong. We will have perfect alibis for everything, Will.”

“Even Mason?”

“Especially Mason,” Hannibal said, his eyes gleaming.

“It sounds like your planning something big, Hannibal,” Will said. “Uncle Robert always tried to keep things low-key. I don’t think he’d appreciate a spectacle…”

“Uncle Robert is dead,” Hannibal said. “And the spectacle is needed. We must show everyone that the Lecter Family is still a force to be contended with and that insults and attacks will not be forgiven so easily.”

Will flinched a bit at Hannibal’s blunt tone, but nodded. Hannibal knew more about this than he did and he had made a valid point in Las Vegas—it wasn’t as if these men were innocent. Their deaths were not tragic, they were justice. He thought about Mischa and Molly and his uncle and knew that this was something that had to be done.

“There isn’t going to be much of a Family left,” Will said, “once we get to Vegas.”

Hannibal tone softened as he eyed Will. “There will be enough of one. We’re expanded, Will, not shrinking.”

Will nodded absently, but his eyes were still distant. “It won’t be the same though,” he said. He looked at Hannibal and his eyes were wide and glistening. “It won’t ever be the same, will it?”

Hannibal sat his drink down and motioned for Will to come to him. Will hesitated for a second, but stood and approached him, not entirely surprised when Hannibal gently tugged him down onto his lap, putting his back against his chest. Will leaned into the solid weight of him and closed his eyes. Hannibal’s hands were warm as they slid around his waist and held him there.

“This is all the family we need, Will,” he told him. “Even after losing almost everyone else we still have one another. Isn’t that what matters? Surely it counts for something?”

“Of course it does,” Will said. “You know that’s not what I meant…”

Hannibal kissed the back of his neck and smiled faintly. His hands wandered down below his waist, running along his thighs and spreading his legs gently. Fingers trailed up the seam of his trousers and Will felt warmth spreading inside of him. Before Will could protest, Hannibal had untucked his shirt and unbuttoned his pants, sliding one hand inside.

Will jerked at the touch and moaned a bit louder than he meant to.

“Shh,” Hannibal bit at his earlobe and grinned as Will moaned again. “You’ll wake Aunt Theresa.”

Will squirmed on his lap and pressed down against Hannibal’s erection. Hannibal’s moan was guttural, but a lot quieter than Will’s had been.

“You have far too much control over yourself right now,” Will muttered, shoving his hips forward into Hannibal’s hands. “I don’t like that.”

Hannibal’s smile was wolfish. “What exactly are you going to do about that, Will?”

There was a moment’s pause before Will pushed Hannibal’s hands away and turned himself around on Hannibal’s lap so that he was facing him.

“This,” he said, leaning forward and kissing him like he needed it more than breath. His hands worked their way up to Hannibal’s shoulders and yanked the tie away before he started fumbling with the buttons of his shirt until he could finally touch skin.

Nimble fingers found his nipples and twisted and toyed with them until Hannibal reached up and pushed them down.

“Getting impatient?” Will grinned impishly and Hannibal didn’t say anything, instead leaning forward and kissing roughly at Will’s lips, biting and sucking and licking until Will’s mouth was red and swollen. Will didn’t move his hands at first, but then he pushed himself up on his knees and shoved his pants and underwear down, touching himself. He fumbled with the zip of Hannibal’s trousers and fought against the distraction of Hannibal’s tongue and teeth as he finally managed to pull his cock out.

He touched him slowly at first, careful and torturously light. Hannibal eventually growled and shoved his hips up to grin against Will’s crotch and Will had to bite his lip to keep from screaming aloud. He buried his face in Hannibal’s shoulder and took both of them in hand, smearing precome along their lengths as he rubbed them together.

The pace was steady and even at first, but when Hannibal started jerking underneath him and his fingers curled tightly in his hair, Will sped up erratically. He was starting to ache as the tension built up and his breath came out in uneven pants. He felt hot all over and everything was tinged faintly red and then suddenly the pressure inside hit a critical point and he bit down hard on Hannibal’s shoulder to keep from crying out. Seconds later, Hannibal stiffened beneath him and he felt the wetness starting to seep through his pants. He felt limp and exhausted and let his hands dangle off the arms of the chair as Hannibal thrust against him through the aftershocks.

For a while the only sound in the room was their exhausted, heavy breathing and then Hannibal carefully lifted his face up, kissing him chastely on the lips.

“That was quite a pleasant surprise,” he said. “However, I think that a shower is in order.”

* * *

Will woke the following morning with Hannibal’s arm warm and heavy around his waist. It took him a moment to realize that the faint light filtering in through the window was the early sunrise. He jerked out of bed, nearly toppling over and frantically search for his clothes before he remembered that he and Hannibal had removed them after their late night shower.

“Will?”

Will raked a hand through his hair and felt his nerves on edge as he stared at Hannibal’s surprisingly sleepy expression.

“What’s wrong?”

“I slept here!”

Hannibal sat up and eyed him carefully. “That you did. Is there a problem?”

“A problem? A problem?” he laughed hysterically. “Oh, of course not. No, it’s not like Aunt Theresa would come in and see the two of us together!”

Slowly, Hannibal slid off the bed and approached him. “Will, calm down.”

“Calm down?! Hannibal, do you realize how risky that was? What if—“

“Shh,” Hannibal put a finger to his lips. “No ‘what-if’s, Will. Nothing happened. Aunt Theresa was exhausted yesterday. She is likely still asleep. Calm down.” He reached behind him and handed him his robe. “Here, take this and go back to your room. Get dressed.”

Will swallowed and nodded, slipping the robe on. His heart was still hammering away in his chest, but Hannibal was right. Nothing had happened. Everything was still okay. He just had to calm down and get dressed and that would be the end of it. He made a promise to himself to make sure that he and Hannibal kept their… activities to earlier times so that he wouldn’t accidentally fall asleep like that again.

After getting properly dressed, he headed downstairs where he could hear Hannibal and Aunt Theresa in the kitchen. He had to take a deep breath and remind himself that everything was fine to keep from panicking again. He was bracing himself to go inside when he heard a knock at the front door. Probably the start of the after-funeral guests who would hadn’t been able to pay their respects at the actual services. He paused and sighed, pulling the door open with a forced smile.

The smile faltered and vanished when he saw who it was standing there.

“Alana?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All mistakes are my own. Any comments and critques are welcome!


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and to everyone reading!

For a moment, Will and Alana just stood there staring at one another. Will felt like he’d been kicked in the chest. Of all the people he had expected to see, Alana Bloom had not even been a consideration.

“Will…” Alana breathed, breaking the strange tension that hung in the air. Before Will could respond, he found himself nearly knocked over as Alana lurched forward and wrapped her arms tightly around him. Will faltered for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. Cautiously, he returned the embrace, burying his face in her dark hair and closing his eyes.

It felt familiar and warm and so _normal_. She was a solid thing in his arms, not like the ghosts of Molly and Mischa, and he had never been so grateful to feel something real. She even smelled the same as he remembered. He let out a choked noise and forced himself to pull back, staring at her.

“What are you doing here?” were the first words he could think to say. It wasn’t what he wanted to ask—there were a million other questions that he had buzzing around in his mind that were better suited than that one. Alana didn’t seem to notice and just continued staring at him, looking relieved and baffled at the same time.

“I heard about your uncle,” she said. “The papers… I didn’t know…” she stared at him. Will realized it was possibly the first time he’d ever seen Alana at a loss for words. “How long have you been back?” she finally asked.

He cleared his throat, shifting his gaze from Alana to the sky behind her.

“A while,” he said.

“A while,” she repeated, her expression going blank. “How long is a while?”

The anger and hurt were like giant signs, bright and hard to ignore. Will grimaced and felt guilt he hadn’t expected to feel. He’d been sure that he’d gotten over the guilty feelings of everything that had happened between him and Alana.

“Long enough,” Will said simply.

Alana pursed her lips, studying him with her keen eyes. He wondered how much she saw, if she could tell how different he was from the man she had agreed to marry once. He hoped that for her sake she’d spot the change and run away before she tangled herself into the mess he was making of his life.

Her next words were laced with anger and accusation. “I thought you were dead!” she said. Will blinked and stared at her, opening his mouth to protest before she continued. “Your brother wouldn’t tell me where you were, he wouldn’t tell me what happened… I was so worried.”

Will swallowed and said nothing, his mind spinning away as Alana continued, angry and not ready to stop launching all of her pent up frustration and resentment at him.

“And the papers were worse… All those accusations and theories. The things they were saying about your family, about you…” she sucked in a sharp breath and stared at him with wide eyes. “I wasn’t sure what was worse… you being the killer they said you were, or you being killed.”

Her voice dropped down to barely more than a whisper. She stared at him with a plea in her eyes and Will wanted nothing more than to take her back into his arms and assure her that she had nothing to worry about.

But that would’ve been a lie.

“What happened, Will?” she asked. She sounded nearly broken, her voice cracking as she watched him. “Why did you disappear? Truthfully?”

He wasn’t sure what to say. He stared at her dumbly for what felt like an eternity before finally looking down. “A lot happened,” he said. “I did things that… that you would certainly never be able to forgive me for. I had to run, Alana, I didn’t have a choice. I’m sorry. I’m not the same man as I was before.”

He wasn’t entirely sure what reaction he’d expected, but he certainly hadn’t expected for Alana to simply clench her jaw and nod curtly at him.

“So what the papers said… about those two men... you killed them.”

Her words were quiet, but they hurt like she’d slapped him. He flinched and nodded, not sure what to say. What words could possibly make this better?

She cleared her throat.

“Why?”

Will blinked. He had no idea how to answer that question. He’d asked himself over and over and all he could come up with was the same thing he had told Molly.

“They were the people who attack my uncle, there was—“

“No, not that,” Alana shook her head. “I don’t care what your justification for committing murder is, Will. I want to know why you’re doing any of it. You told me… the way you talked about them made it clear that you wanted no part in that kind of life and yet you’re standing in front of me right now, telling me that you _killed people_ for them. Why would you let go of all of your convictions like that? Why would you… _How_ could you do that?”

She look so betrayed, so disappointed. Will couldn’t bear to see her look at him that way.

“It wasn’t—it’s not that simply, Alana. I’m not trying to defend what I did; I know it was wrong, but it was also necessary.”

“Necessary?” Alana looked like she wanted to laugh. “How is turning your back on your beliefs ever necessary?”

Will looked down at the ground, his throat tight. “There wasn’t another option, Alana,” he said. “It had to be done, or things would have gotten bad.”

“Things did get bad!” Alana nearly shouted. “Things were terrible! There were people getting killed left and right! The entire city was in terror, Will! All because of your family and the others like them. All because of a bunch of _murderers_!”

“It’s not like that!” Will insisted.

“That’s sure as hell what it looks like,” Alana’s voice had gone cold.

“You don’t understand,” Will felt like he was pleading with her all of sudden, begging her to just see his side of things. He’d known from the start that she never would. That there was no way she could condone his cold blooded murder. It was utterly pointless to try.

“I don’t _want_ to understand,” Alana said, her voice soft and still as cold as ice. She took a step back and Will thought he saw tears glimmering in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Will. I thought I had my head around this. I don’t. I can’t do this. Not right now.”

She took a deep breath. “I’ll… maybe I’ll call you in a few days. I need to think.”

She didn’t give him a chance to say anything else. She turned on her heel and walked briskly back to the gate where Will spotted a taxi waiting for her. He watched it drive away and didn’t shut the door until it was entirely out of sight. He stood there for a long time, just staring at nothing, trying to figure out what he was feeling. He’d always been good at sorting out other people’s emotions—not so much with his own.

“Will?”

He jumped at the sound of Hannibal’s voice behind him and turned slowly to stare at him. He was watching him with a concerned expression on his face, his eyes somber and sad as he stared at him.

“Will, what’s wrong?”

Clearing his throat, Will glanced back at the closed door.

“Alana was just here,” he said. His voice cracked and he realized that his eyes were burning. He looked at Hannibal and pressed his lips together. “She was coming to pass on condolences about Uncle Robert’s death.”

Hannibal didn’t react. His face remained as cool and unreadable as ever. Will suddenly felt like hitting him.

“I see,” he said, speaking carefully.

“Do you?” Will asked. “Do you really?”

“Will, calm down—“

“I don’t want to calm down!” Will screamed, breathing hard as he stared at him. “She—I knew she wouldn’t forgive me for what I did, for what happened… but she didn’t even know I was here, Hannibal! She had no idea where I was! She said you shut her out!”

“Will—“

“I let her go,” Will kept going, ignoring Hannibal as he hesitantly came closer. “I let her go and didn’t call her because you told me that she moved on, but she said that you wouldn’t even talk to her, Hannibal!”

“I did speak to her!” Hannibal’s voice was only partly raised, but it was enough that Will felt a jolt of shock run through him. “I could not tell her where you were, Will, but I did not ‘shut her out’. I couldn’t reveal every detail to her, you must understand that.”

Taking a shuddering breath, Will pressed his hands to his face. He felt like he was about to come apart. It sounded pretty good at the moment, actually. He figured he couldn’t feel anything at all if he could just rip out the seams and empty himself out. That would be pretty nice.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know what I’m thinking anymore…”

Hannibal’s hands were suddenly on his shoulders and he tried to pull away, but Hannibal held him tightly.

“Will, if Alana is upset because she feels I handled your absence poorly, then that is my fault. I will apologize to her and explain that it was not your doing…”

Will’s smile was bitter and he looked up into Hannibal’s face.

“That’s not what she’s angry about, Hannibal, and you know it.” He pressed his face into Hannibal’s collar. “I knew it before I ever agreed to help. I knew it was going to be the end. I thought I’d put that all in the past…”

“You did, Will,” Hannibal whispered into his hair, pressing a kiss there. “The past, unfortunately, has a way of coming back to us when we least expect it to.”

Sighing, Will wrapped his arms around Hannibal.

“She said she’ll call. She needed to think. You can talk to her then.”

“I will,”

“Good.” Will said. He was silent for a moment and then he shifted and shook his head. “I suppose it’s not entirely your fault that you couldn’t tell her anything, but the way she talked it just seemed like…” he trailed off, not sure what he was going to say. Alana had seemed so angry, and not just about the murders. He didn’t want to think Hannibal would have done anything to upset her though, even if he didn’t approve of their relationship.

“Seemed like what?” Hannibal asked.

“Nothing,” Will shook his head. “It’s nothing. Never mind.”

Hannibal smiled faintly and dropped his grip on Will, turning him gently toward the kitchen.

“Come on then,” he said. “Breakfast will be ready soon. I’ll make you come coffee. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All mistakes are my own. Comments and critiques are welcome and appreciated!


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for not posting yesterday and for not giving you guys a heads-up that the chapter would be late. I didn't expect it to, but I had to have a broken tooth removed Thursday and I was on pain killers and really loopy and sleepy Friday so there was no way I could finish and post the chapter.
> 
> I'm also sorry that this is such a short chapter. I struggled to focus even now because the pain is very distracting (though not as bad as it was, which is good...). I'm sorry. I promise I'll make up for it next Friday because the end is nigh, guys. It's all coming to a head soon.

“One week,” Will said, staring at Hannibal. “Isn’t that kind of fast?”

“The Families are moving quickly,” Hannibal said. “Barzini wants me out of the way as quickly as possible. The sooner he can cripple the Lecter Family, the sooner he can move in and take over our territories.”

Will shifted uncomfortably. Gideon had just left after relaying the message to Hannibal that everything was in place and everyone was prepared for the fallout that was waiting just one week down the road. Tobias didn’t seem to suspect anything; he’d confirmed the date of Barzini’s meeting and said that the location would remain secret for security purposes until the day of.

“You’re sure that this is going to work?”

“Will, calm down,” Hannibal said, reaching out and touching his hand softly. “Everything will be alright. We have everything in place.”

Restless energy seemed to have been building up in Will ever since Hannibal had told him about the plan and he had to resist the urge to get up and pace around the office.

“A lot of things can go wrong,”

“They won’t,”

“You seem so sure,”

“I am,” Hannibal said. He caught his gaze and held it for a moment before Will looked away. Unable to keep the nervousness at bay, he lurched to his feet and crossed his arms.

“This is going to be ugly,” he said. “How can you be so calm?”

Hannibal sat back and followed him with his eyes. Will felt like he was coming apart at the seams from all of the anxiety and Hannibal was simply sitting there, placid and unrufflable as ever.

“I’ve gone over every detail of this plan, backwards and forwards, for months. If there were any hole, I would have spotted them. You have to trust me. This _will_ work out. Within two weeks, we’ll be on our way to Las Vegas and this entire thing will be behind us for good.”

Will tried to let go of the feeling of impending doom, but the chances of everything blowing up in their faces seemed to cling to him. He’d always been the type to look on the negative side of things anyway and the risks involved with Hannibal’s plan did not help to boost his confidence in it at all.

“You have nothing to worry about, Will,” Hannibal assured him.

He nodded stiffly, but he couldn’t shake the feeling in his gut that this was going to end badly. He’d been antsy for days and Alana’s sudden reappearance had done nothing but fuel the fire.

“You’re right, you’re right,” he said, running his fingers through his hair. “I just need to calm down and let things go the way they’re going to go. It’ll be fine.”

Hannibal smiled at him and Will smiled back, but it felt forced and shaky. “Good. Don’t worry, Will,” Hannibal said again. “I’ll take care of everything. It will work out fine.”

* * *

Hannibal had expected Alana Bloom to stay out of the picture for good after their last confrontation. Her unexpected reappearance threw a wrench into his plans, but he was nothing if not adaptable. As long as he could keep Will from talking to her, he could sweep her under the rug along with Mason and the Four Families. If he looked on the bright side, it was actually fairly convenient—he would be able to take care of all of his problems within one week and then everything would be the way it was supposed to be.

The only trouble was Alana’s stubbornness, which he realized he had sorely underestimated. He would not be making that mistake again.

Once everything had been settled and he had explained things to Will, he slipped out of the house, claiming he needed to meet with Dolarhyde once more before he departed to Vegas to take care of Mr. Greene. It was a simple matter to track down Miss Bloom’s city apartment, where she had apparently been living for the past several weeks.

She opened the door without asking who it was and stared at him, eyes wide, when she recognized him.

“Hannibal,” she took half a step back. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Hannibal cleared his throat and removed his hat, smiling at her.

“Yes, I apologize for not calling ahead, but you did not leave a contact number and I thought it best if we had this conversation in person.”

Her lips pressed together as she studied him.

“What conversation?”

“Will told me about your visit yesterday,” he said. “I came to apologize to you.”

She blinked, tilting her head. “Apologize?”

“Will told me that you were upset and that I had left you with… less than complementary feelings toward myself. I’m very sorry if anything I said left you with the impression that I did empathize entirely with your confusion and worry for Will’s safety while he was gone.”

Alana crossed her arms and her eyes darted around behind him suspiciously.

“I’m not upset because you were rude to me, Mr. Lecter, or because you refused to even speak to me about Will. I’m upset because…” she faltered. “Because you and your _Mafia_ gang turned Will into a killer. He was a good man. He wanted to get away from all of that and you—you just sucked him right back in.”

Her eyes were wet and Hannibal realized that she had been crying even before he had shown up. He was certain that she would eventually come to talk to Will, and Will could potentially convince her to forgive him. That he would not allow.

“You cannot fault Will for being loyal to his family—“

“To criminals and killers,” Alana corrected him, her gaze hard despite the tears that she had yet to shed.

“He would like to speak to you,” he said. “He was afraid that you would not even see him, so he asked me to pass along a message. He wants to talk to you, to explain everything. He hopes that once he does, you’ll understand why he had to do what he did.”

“I don’t want his excuses—“

“I’ve known Will most of his life,” Hannibal cut her off. “He is not trying to excuse what he did, merely to explain. He hopes that you’ll at least give him that courtesy. After all, you did once say that you loved him.”

Alana hesitated and closed her eyes. “I did… I… do.” She sucked in a breath and stared up at Hannibal.

“He hasn’t changed as much as you believe, Miss Bloom. Hear him out.”

“Alright,” she sighed, nodding. “Okay. I’ll meet him.”

He smiled at her, his teeth flashing. He didn’t miss the way she shivered at the predatory grin, but she still hadn’t quite realized how dangerous trusting him was.

“Excellent. I will let him know. You can meet him tomorrow, at the hotel where you were staying that Christmas Eve. The room will be registered in your name.”

She nodded again and he placed his hat back on his bed, tipping if gently in goodbye.

“Thank you, Miss Bloom. You won’t regret this.”

He left, watching her close the door with a look of uncertain hope on her face. He had definitely been right in coming here. He couldn’t let her get any closer to Will than she already had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All mistakes are my own. Comments and critiques are welcome!
> 
> (and again, please forgive me for how short this is. I promise I'll make up for it!)


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to everyone reading and commenting on this! I really appreciate it!
> 
> Brace yourselves. Things are starting to get unpleasant.

Alana was fidgeting in the empty hotel suite, moving from the bed to the door and back several times. She had moved to pick up the phone and call the Lecter house twice before stopping herself. Her nerves felt like they were short circuiting. After spilling all of her anger and fear and betrayal out on the doorstep days earlier, she felt drained. She was constantly balancing between wanting to call Will and tell him she forgave him and she was sorry, and wanting to pack her things and get out of the city and as far away from Will as she possibly could.

She was never sure which side of her was winning the argument. She sank down onto the bed and forced herself to be still—there was no point in being so anxious. This was Will. No matter what he had done or what he had become, it was Will. It would work out or it wouldn’t and she wasn’t doing herself any favors by stressing out over it.

Her eyes darted to the clock and she frowned. He was late. Maybe she should leave. Maybe this had been a mistake.

Just as she gathered her bag and started toward the door, there was a sharp knock. She froze and stared at the glossy wood for a moment, months and years of fear and hurt suddenly coming back just like when she’d seen Will again for the first time. She squared her shoulders and let her bag drop to the floor. She would not lose control of herself like that again. She would be calm and collected. No matter what happened, she would be fine.

She almost smiled as she reached for the handle, but the smile felt all wrong, so she set her expression into one of careful neutrality and steeled herself against the conflicting emotions inside of her as she opened the door.

“Will, --“ she blinked and frowned, staring at the man being the door. Her head tilted curiously and she suddenly got the sickening, overwhelming urge to run.

“Hannibal? What are you doing here? You said Will was…” she trailed off as she studied Hannibal’s expression. It wasn’t the mask of careful control that she had come to expect. His eyes were gleaming brightly and his lips were twisted just partly up in what she could only describe as a sinister smirk.

He pushed his way in and closed the door. She only faintly heard the lock clicking into place.

“Hannibal, what’s going on?” she demanded, her feet carrying her several steps back as she looked around the room in desperation. Her heart felt heavy and tight in her chest and she sucked in a deep breath, preparing to scream if she had to. For the first time since she’d met him, that lingering, faint trace of fear she usually felt was magnified and so intense she was amazed she could stand.

“I’m afraid I lied,” Hannibal said. He sounded—not calm. No, he sounded _happy._ Alana edged toward the lamp, wondering if she could hit him hard enough to knock him out. “Will isn’t going to be arriving, Miss Bloom. In fact, I don’t think you’ll be seeing him again.”

He moved fast—faster than Alana had anticipated. She barely had time to turn and wrap her fingers around the lamp before his heavy hands yanked her back, one tightly pressed against her mouth before she could scream and the other clutching painfully at her throat.

“It’s a shame it had to come to this; I didn’t want it to. But it’s your own fault really,” his voice was faint and her lungs were on fire as she kicked and struggled. He dragged her over to the bed and threw her onto it, straddling her and wrapping both hands around her throat, clenching tightly.

She stared up into his eyes. They were burning a bright, furious red. She’d never seen such demonic, viciousness in human eyes and for just a moment she was convinced that the man wasn’t human at all. She tried to get enough breath to scream, to beg, to say anything but she couldn’t and she doubted very much if it would’ve mattered.

The last thing she heard before sinking into the darkness was Hannibal Lecter’s voice, soft and fading, whispering in her ear.

“You should have stayed away from him,”

* * *

Will had become increasingly morose since Alana Bloom’s unexpected appearance. Hannibal watched him staring at the phone as if willing it to ring and felt irrationally, dangerously angry all over again. Even now that he had taken care of her and the threat she posed, Will still couldn’t let the woman go. He wanted to grab him and shake him and demand that he put her out of his thoughts forever, but he knew that he had to be patient.

It had been days since he’d killed her, since he’d strangled the life out of Alana Bloom, and he still felt the buoyant, floating singing in his veins.He could recall every detail; the look on her face, the way she felt as the life drained out of her. Her eyes going dim—and the fear. The fear that had practically screamed at him as he’d done it. It had washed over him, into him, consuming him like the most delicious meal that he had ever prepared and he wanted to savor it again and again.

He could still see it all. He relived it constantly, closing his eyes and bringing the image to mind. He felt her dying beneath him as he had held Will down beneath him and nearly made him scream the night before. He felt her in the shower, while he helped his aunt cook, while meeting with Gideon one last time to make sure that everything was going to go according to plan.

And yet Will’s look of anxious longing and dread pulled him right out of that blissful euphoria and into reality. He sighed impatiently and shook his head at the younger man.

“Will,” he called, jerking him out of his thoughts.

“It’s time to leave,”

It was their Aunt Theresa’s birthday and they were taking her out for breakfast to celebrate. It also happened to be the date of the meeting that Hannibal was expected to attend on Barzini’s territory. It was going to be a long day—arrangements were being made in Las Vegas and they were sending Theresa ahead of them that afternoon so that she would be away from the city before everything hit the fan.

Will blinked and nodded, standing up and grabbing his coat from the back of the chair where he’d left it. Hannibal rested his hands gently at the small of his back, guiding him to the foyer where their aunt was waiting. Once again his blood fairly sang with anticipation. Today was the day. It would all be over soon enough and in just two weeks time they would be safely away from this city, in Las Vegas and able to start over new. Perhaps then Will would be able to forget his past romances.

* * *

While Hannibal, Will, and Theresa enjoyed their breakfast outing—and made sure to be seen by as many people as possible doing so—Abel Gideon’s men spread out to do their job. It was a messy and public affair that wound haunt the city for years and live on in the memories of its citizens as a day of blood. This was not the time for quick, quiet executions. Hannibal wanted the Families to be scared and nothing short of violent and very visible assassinations would do that.

Four men went out with steely determination and loud guns. Cueno was hit while climbing into a taxi—two shots to the chest and then his assailant fled, leaving him broken and bleeding to death in the street as Robert Lecter had been years earlier. Stracci was entering his apartment building, just removing his coat when he was taken by surprise with an assault rifle. His body was left in the doorway, littered with bullet holes. Tattaliga was in one of his brothels when Gideon’s man burst through the door and fired six shots to his face. And Barzini was caught while leaving for the meeting that was meant to take place that afternoon. He was gunned down by two men and his attackers ran over his body as they fled.

Several thousand miles away, Moe Greene was in his casino in Las Vegas getting a massage when the hulking figure of Francis Dolarhyde burst in, terrifying the masseuse. Dolarhyde didn’t say a word as Greene rose up from the table and demanded to know what was going on. One shot was all it took—right through Greene’s glasses lens and into his right eye. He fell limp on the table and Dolarhyde turned his gun on the masseuse, killing her quickly with a shot to the head.

Before they had even paid for their meal, all four heads of the opposing Families had been slaughtered and their opposition in Vegas was dead. Hannibal was practically gleeful as they headed home, nearly even oblivious to Will’s nervous shifting and anxious glances out the windows.

“Is it done?” he finally asked as they neared the compound. Aunt Theresa was in the backseat and did not hear them.

Hannibal glanced at his watch before nodding.

“It’s done.”

Will seemed to relax, but his hands remained clenched in tight fists. Hannibal reached over and took his hands into one of his own, keeping his eyes on the road.

“It will be fine, Will. Gideon’s men are competent. Everything will work out.”

Will sucked in a deep breath and nodded.

“Once we get Aunt Theresa home, change clothes quickly and meet me back at the car. We’ll drive her to the airport and get her sent to Las Vegas and then there’s one more thing we must take care of.”

Will’s posture was suddenly stiff again, but he simply stared ahead, nodding curtly.

“Mason?”

Hannibal’s lips curled and he nodded. “Mason.”

* * *

Gideon was waiting in the courtyard outside of the compound when the sleek back car pulled up. He had three men flanking him. Tobias Budge stepped out of the car, eyeing them oddly as he approached them. “Barzini will be waiting,” he said, tilting his head. “I’m supposed to drive Hannibal to the meeting place.”

Gideon said nothing for a moment, simply staring at the other man. He had worked with Tobias for years, had come to respect him and his opinions. But betrayal was something that he could not forgive, no matter how much he respected the man.

“Hannibal won’t be going with you,” Gideon said calmly. “We’ve arranged other transport. My men will accompany you ahead of him to make sure that the place is safe.”

He could see the instant that Tobias understood what was happening. His shoulders slumped and he nodded. He stared at the other men and nodded curtly before turning back to face Gideon.

“It was never anything personal against him, you understand,” he said. “I didn’t agree with him on a lot of things, but this wasn’t personal. It was just business.”

Gideon nodded. “I’ll pass that message along, Mr. Budge. I’m sure it won’t make a difference.”

“I know it won’t,” Tobias smiled and turned his full attention to Gideon’s men, who were all now openly wielding their firearms. He waved them toward the car and didn’t resist as one of them pressed the barrel of their weapon into his back. He’d known when making the deal with Barzini that this would end one of two ways and he was prepared to face the consequences of it now that it was all over.

Gideon watched the car pull away and didn’t flinch when he heard the muffled gunshots going off before the vehicle had even cleared the gates. He turned back toward the house and went inside to wait for Hannibal’s return.

* * *

Will had only met Mason Verger once before—at Mischa’s wedding. Even then he had not liked the man and had had difficulty hiding his distaste for him. Thinking back to that day now, Will could only see Mischa, happy and alive and carefree. It sent a wave of nauseous pain to his gut that wiped out every other thought—of Alana, of Hannibal, of the men who’d been killed that day—until all he could think about was Mason.

After making sure that Aunt Theresa boarded her plane without complication, Will and Hannibal had made the drive to Mason’s city apartment, the very same one that he had shared with Mischa. Will’s breath was tight and he tried to make himself relax as he and Hannibal took the small elevator to the very top of the building where Mason resided.

Will decided to let Hannibal do most of the work if he could. He was feeling a startling mixture of eagerness and terror as they drew closer and closer to what he knew was going to happen. Hannibal kept a reassuring hand at his back the entire time, but it did nothing at all to make Will feel better and only worked to keep Will from slipping somewhere far away and inside of his mind.

Which, perhaps, was Hannibal’s intention in the first place.

Hannibal knocked on the door when they finally reached it and Will took the chance to step back, hiding himself behind Hannibal’s larger frame, hoping that would be enough to get Hannibal to take the lead and have him do as little as possible. He felt like he was going to be sick.

Mason’s eyes popped comically when he opened the door and he smiled brightly as soon as he recognized Hannibal. He seemed to be in a very good mood and Will felt a stab of rage at that, immensely glad that they were going to ruin his good day.

“Hannibal!” Mason said. “What a surprise. I haven’t seen you in ages! How long’s it been? I think the last time was right after poor Mischa was killed.”

There was not one trace of remorse in the man, though he did seem to try and put on a show—his eyes were bright and the smile seemed perpetually on the edge of his face. Will felt Hannibal’s anger like a palpable thing, rising and growing and begging to be released.

“We merely wanted to stop by and speak with you, Mason.” Hannibal said. His voice was oddly, amazingly, calm given the fury that Will knew was roiling inside of him. “If you recall, we had a conversation some time ago about Mischa and I made you a promise.”

Will couldn’t see Hannibal’s eyes, but he could imagine the way they flashed, darkly excited and dangerous, as he spoke.

Mason, for his part, seemed completely unconcerned.

“I don’t know what you think you’re going to do, Hannibal but, I—“

Hannibal lunged forward with the grace of a hunting cat and Will stood in awe of it. His muscles bunched and moved with ease beneath his suit as he pushed Mason into the apartment and Will followed, closing the door quietly.

If he hadn’t known any better, he would have guessed that Hannibal was embracing Mason the way the two of them looked in that moment, connected in some surreal way. Mason’s mouth was open in a silent scream of pain, little choked noises making it up out of his throat every couple of seconds. Until Hannibal pulled back, the knife in his grasp had been all but invisible and if it weren’t the bright, blooming bloodstain on Mason’s shirt, Will wouldn’t have known he’d even stabbed the man.

Hannibal stepped back and let Mason fall to his knees on the floor, staring down at him with hard, cold eyes.

“I keep my promises, Mason,” he said, his voice as steely as ice.

He turned slowly, looking at Will, who was still by the door, staring with wide eyes at the scene before him. For a moment, they stayed like that and everything seemed to fade away—Mason’s gurgling, the sound of his blood dripping on the floor, the ridiculous opulence of the apartment around them, the sounds of city outside. Everything was gone expect Hannibal and Will.

Carefully, Hannibal reached into his pocket and produced another knife, similar to the blade that he held in his other hand. He held the gleaming weapon out to Will, blade first, and looked expectantly at him.

Will hesitated, taking half a step forward. His eyes darted to Mason and for a moment, all he could see was a broken man, bleeding out in his own home. Then he remembered Mischa, he remember her bright smile. He remembered how he’d felt the day that Hannibal had told him she was dead. He remembered the hollow put of anguish that had nearly swallowed him whole.

He took two strides and grabbed the knife before he could change his mind. Hannibal smiled at him, the rage and fury that had been coming off of him in waves had been suddenly replaced with a burst of pride and euphoria that nearly buckled Will’s knees. Will swallowed hard and turned the blade over in his hands, finding a sure grip on it before looking into Hannibal’s eyes.

“What do you want me to do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to Hell, aren't I?
> 
> All mistakes are my own. Comments and critiques are welcome!


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for not letting you guys know ahead of time that I wouldn't be able to post last Friday! I was sick for several days and then my grandmother was taken to the hospital after a fainting spell--all's well now, thankfully, she just forgot to take her insulin and apparently has a bladder infection, but she's been released and is doing much better. 
> 
> I've got a much more hectic schedule in the next coming weeks with mid-terms looming closer, so my writing time is limited. I will continue to try and post every Friday as usual, however. Just know if a chapter is later, that's likely the reason.

_Las Vegas, Nevada – February, 1948_

Alana never called. The two weeks following the death of Mason Verger and the heads of the Four Families went by in a strange blur for Will. He was so immersed in helping Hannibal reorganize everything, in helping him to help Gideon set things up, that he barely noticed anything else. He went to sleep each night by Hannibal’s side and tried not to think about the hollow disappointment of Alana’s absence.

The police only questioned them once, unable to truly make anything stick. They had perfect alibis for the very public assassinations and though it was no real secret who had ordered the deaths, the NYPD had no proof and had yet to ID any of the assassins. The other Four Families were quiet, scrambling frantically to replace their leaders and staying out of the Lecter Family’s way.

Hannibal was almost giddy. Will had never seen him smile as much as he had during those last couple of weeks in New York. It was almost disconcerting, but Will tried to smile along with him, tried to shake the growing pit of unease in his stomach. He told himself that he would feel much better once they arrived in Las Vegas and everything was settled.

Except that journeying to Vegas did not ease his feelings one bit. He had nightmares that woke Hannibal in the night, images of Mason Verger, hazy pain-filled memories of Molly and Mischa. He couldn’t seem to shake the ghosts from his mind and Hannibal was busier than he’d ever been before getting them settled into their new home.

It had been more than two months since the move and Will rarely saw Hannibal except for the fleeting nights they shared together and the brief goodbyes and chats over breakfast. At least Aunt Theresa was settling in well. They’d set her up in a rather lavish apartment while the new estate was under construction—Hannibal estimated that everything would be finished within the year and Will could hardly wait until they were finally able to have more privacy than the apartments they were currently living in offered.

Will didn’t like the city. At least in New York he could stay on the compound, he could drive further upstate and feel secluded and away from the press of people and crowds. Las Vegas was growing fast and there didn’t seem to be any place for him to be truly alone and able to think, even when he spent most of his days alone and rarely ventured out of the apartment for anything at all.

His thoughts were always either consumed with thoughts of Molly and Mischa, riddled with the nightmares and the shame of what he and Hannibal had done to Mason—and the sickening horror at the fact that he didn’t feel regret for it—or wondering if Alana had truly forgotten him.

It wasn’t an altogether pleasant experience. The only people he talked to anymore were Hannibal and his aunt—and the ghosts in his head. He wondered if he were going insane from it all, but that was ridiculous. He was just having a more difficult time adjusting to the new life, that was all. At least, that was what he continued to tell himself.

He’d considered looking for a job, but Hannibal insisted that he at least wait, kept telling him that there was no need for him to have a job when he was helping with the Family business, but Will hadn’t done much of anything since the move and he knew that a large part of the reason he was so distracted by the past was because he was so bored. At least thinking about Alana and wondering why she hadn’t called and if she ever would was a _living_ distraction.

His thoughts jumped to her every time the phone rang and he had to still his ridiculous hope every time he answered. He was thinking about her when the phone rang in the middle of the afternoon, just as he was getting ready to meet Hannibal and his aunt in the casino restaurant. He snatched the receiver and barely managed to squash the ridiculous hope in his tone before answering.

“Mr. William Graham?” the voice at the other end of the line was vaguely familiar, but he wasn’t quite sure why.

“Speaking,”

“I don’t know if you remember me, Mr. Graham. I’m Agent Crawford, with the FBI.”

Will’s stomach dropped and his mind flashed to Mason, to Chilton and McCluskey. He clutched at the phone and forced himself to breath calmly.

“I remember,” he said, his mind immediately conjuring up the image of the imposing man lingering outside of the gates just after Mischa’s wedding.

“Good, good. I need to speak with you, Mr. Graham. I’d prefer to do it in person. It’s about a friend of yours—your former fiancée. Miss Alana Bloom?”

Something like terror shot through Will’s veins. That had not been what he’d expected to hear at all.

“Alana?” he managed to rasp a second later. “What about her?”

“It’s better I talk to you face to face. I’m in Las Vegas now. Would it be possible for you to meet me in about an hour?”

Will’s mind raced. He was supposed to be meeting Hannibal and his aunt, but something was clearly very wrong if the FBI was calling about Alana. He had to know what. Hannibal would surely understand. He found himself agreeing before he’d realized he’d decided to and wrote the name of a small buffet down on a napkin before hanging up.

He stared down at it for a moment and then hurried to call the restaurant to let Hannibal know that he would be skipping dinner. He started to tell him why, but decided against it at the last moment. Hannibal was never overly found of anything to do with Alana and besides, if it was anything important he could just tell him about it when he returned.

* * *

Will spotted Crawford easily enough when he entered the restaurant. It was hard not to. The man had a presence that was difficult to ignore. Still feeling that fleeting, twisting fear in his gut, Will hesitated before heading toward the table where the man sat with his back to him.

He nearly lost his nerve and turned to leave, sure that whatever Crawford had to say to him would not be good news by any stretch of the imagination. He swallowed past that and refused to let the fear show on his expression. He slid into the seat opposite the larger man and forced himself to meet his eyes, if only for a moment.

“You wanted to see me, Agent Crawford?”

Crawford studied him for a moment, keen eyes seeming to try and peel him apart layer by layer.

“Mr. Graham,” he greeted him. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“What is it you want to talk about?”

“Straight to be point then,” Crawford raised a brow and Will sighed.

“You said it was about Alana,” he insisted, trying to move the conversation forward. He needed to know what had happened, what was wrong.

Crawford just kept studying him.

“How much do you know about Hannibal Lecter?”

Will blinked and sat back, scowling. He started to stand. “If you just called me here to discuss Hannibal then you’re out of luck, Agent. I have absolutely nothing to say about him or the rest of my family.”

Jack reached out and grabbed his wrist before he could leave. The touch seemed to burn Will and he jerked back, staring hard at the other man.

“I didn’t just call you here to talk about your family, I assure you, Mr. Graham. It’s definitely got to do with Miss Bloom. I merely want to know how much you know.”

Will slowly sat down again.

“How much I know about what?” he demanded warily.

“How much you know about Hannibal Lecter.”

Will’s jaw clenched. “I’ve known him my entire life,” he said. “He’s my brother.”

Crawford nodded. “I understand that,” he said. “He’s your family. You do anything for him. Protect him from anything.”

“Exactly,” Will bit out, not in the mood for this conversation.

“You don’t think he’s… dangerous?”

Will started to say no, but froze. Of course Hannibal was dangerous, but… not to him. Not to his family. He’d never do anything to hurt him.

“No,”

Crawford smiled at him. “I think you don’t really believe that, Mr. Graham.”

Will huffed. “I think it’s irrelevant. Tell me what this is about.”

Reaching into his coat, Crawford pulled out what looked like a clipping from a newspaper. Will frowned, immediately thinking back to the assassinations, to the blood and the bodies and to Mason Verger’s mutilated body.

“You were going to marry Alana Bloom a few years ago, weren’t you?”

Will nodded curtly, staring at the paper and trying not to let his anxiety show on his face.

“Why didn’t you?”

Will’s eyes jerked to Crawford’s face and he frowned. “It didn’t work out,” he said simply. “We aren’t the same people we were back then.”

“Right,” Crawford nodded, pursing his lips. “I take it you don’t read the papers very often, do you, Mr. Graham?”

“I’ve been busy,” Will said defensively, suddenly unsure where this was going.

Crawford unfolded the paper in his hands and passed it over to Will. It was a short article accompanied by two photographs—one of a young woman being carried away on a stretcher with her face covered and the other a picture of Alana smiling brightly somewhere outside. Will’s fingers clutched at the paper and his eyes only skimmed the writing, already knowing what it must say.

“She—she’s dead…” his voice was hoarse and faint and he slowly looked up at Crawford, pale and shaken. “H-how… she…”

“She was attacked in her hotel room several weeks ago,” Crawford said bluntly. “Strangled to death.”

Will stared back down at the paper. “She was murdered…” he whispered.

“She was,” Crawford nodded and leaned forward. “And I think that Hannibal Lecter is the man who killed her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All mistakes are my own. Comments and critiques are welcome!


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating last week guys. My grandmother showed up unexpectedly and brought my one-year-old baby cousin with her. I found myself taking care of her for three days and it suddenly became MY job to feed her, change her, bathe her, and put her down for naps. Not that I'm complaining. I love her to bits and kind of wish they could've stayed longer... still, taking care of a baby definitely takes away precious writing time and is _exhausting_.
> 
> Hopefully this will make up for it.

For the longest moment all Will could do was stare at the FBI agent. His mind seemed to have suddenly stopped working, unable to process what he had said to him. Crawford waited, watching him carefully as he slowly regained the ability to speak.

“Th-that’s impossible!” Will finally blurted, shaking his head. “Hannibal would never—“

“Wouldn’t he?” Crawford pressed, leaning forward. “Are you sure, Mr. Graham?”

Will stuttered, staring wide-eyed at the other man. Hannibal would _never_ have—he couldn’t—he wouldn’t—would he?

There was a gleam of triumph in Crawford’s eyes that set Will on edge and he pressed his lips together, trying to appear as disbelieving as possible. The word of an FBI agent didn’t matter. The FBI had been trying to catch a break against the Lecter Family for years. This could be another ploy to try and turn him against Hannibal. He owed Hannibal the benefit of the doubt, if nothing else.

Standing abruptly, Will forced the uncertain, nagging thoughts from his mind.

“I’m sure, Agent,” he said tersely. “And if there isn’t anything else you’d like to talk about…”

Crawford didn’t seem too concerned about his hostility. He smiled genially at him and shook his head. “No, nothing else, Mr. Graham. I just hope you’ll think about what I said. Maybe your brother hasn’t been as honest with you as you thought.”

Will didn’t dignify that with a response, turning to leave. Crawford caught him by the arm the same way he had years ago on the night of Mischa’s wedding. He pressed a stiff card into Will’s hand and tried—and failed—to make eye contact.

“Talk to him,” he said. “Get his side of the story. If you aren’t happy with what you hear, give me a call.”

Will stared down at the contact information in plane black type against the stark white background. He crushed it in his fist, bending the cardstock. He wanted to simply throw it back in Crawford’s face, but something stopped him and instead he shoved it into his coat pocket, nodding curtly before leaving.

* * *

Will made it across town in time to catch Hannibal and his aunt before they left the restaurant. They were just finishing dinner when he was led to their table.

“Will!” Theresa greeted him with a smile as he bent down to kiss her on the cheek before taking his seat. “I thought you weren’t going to be able to make it?”

“I didn’t expect to,” Will admitted, trying to avoid looking toward Hannibal. He could feel the weight of his curious gaze on him and it made him want to squirm, but he made himself sit still and pretend that there was nothing wrong. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

“That’s alright, Will,” Hannibal said. “We were just about finished, but I don’t mind staying and having dinner with you. That is, if Aunt Theresa doesn’t mind taking a cab back to her apartment.”

Theresa smiled. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “It’s getting late anyway and I’d like to get to bed. You two stay. You’ve been working so often lately. You need a break.”

Hannibal nodded and called the waiter over to take Will’s order before excusing himself to wait with Theresa for a taxi to take her back home. Will fidgeted nervously as he waited for Hannibal to return. He could feel Crawford’s card in his pocket like a hot coal and he kept flashing back to the news clipping announcing Alana’s death. Doubt was starting to creep back in his mind. But he couldn’t just accuse Hannibal of something so horrible; he’d only end up offending him and alienating him.

_Unless he really_ did _kill her…_ a traitorous voice whispered in his mind and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to remind himself that Hannibal was a lot of things, but to murder someone in cold blood?

Still, his mind relentlessly ignored his attempts to push away the suspicious doubt. In his mind’s eyes he could _see_ it happening, could see how Hannibal would have charmed his way into Alana’s hotel room and then pounced on her, squeezing the life from her. Vividly, he could see the way his hands would’ve wrapped around her slender throat and crushed until there was no breath left in her, the way her eyes would bulge and her lips would turn blue, the way excitement would rush through Hannibal’s veins at the sight…

Lost in the terrible reconstruction, he didn’t realize Hannibal had returned to the table until he felt a heavy hand come down on his shoulder. He jerked away, blinking rapidly as he looked around wildly. Hannibal pulled his hand away immediately and watched him with concerned eyes.

“Are you alright, Will?”

Will swallowed hard and nodded, the movement feeling twitchy.

“I’m fine,” he said. His voice cracked a bit and he cleared his throat, smiling. “Just kind of distracted, I guess. Sorry.”

“You seem on edge,” Hannibal said. “Did something happen?”

Will looked at him, warring with himself. He wanted to telling him exactly what had happened, to be completely honest with him. That was what he would have wanted Hannibal to do if their situations were reversed. But at the same time, he could still hear that little voice in the back of mind, whispering doubts to him. He could still feel the euphoria from his imagination and he was having a difficult time convincing himself that it was simply all in his head.

“…Something did, I suppose,” Will said carefully. “I was just thinking about Alana…”

Hannibal’s expression clouded and Will felt another stab of uncertainty. Hannibal had never been overly fond of Alana… but that didn’t mean he’d _kill_ her. He was always courteous and kind to her despite his personal feelings.

“She hasn’t called or even tried to contact me,” Will continued, surprised that he was able to keep his voice from wobbling. He watched Hannibal for a reaction, figuring that surely he would get some real indication of what Hannibal knew if he paid close enough attention to him. “I’m worried…”

The dark cloud slowly dissipated and Hannibal relaxed in front of him, putting on a gentle smile that Will recognized very well.

“Perhaps she decided against contacting you, Will. It is possible that she changed her mind.”

“But she said she would,” he said. “Even if she decided that she wanted nothing to do with me at all, she would’ve called me…” he hesitated for half a moment before meeting Hannibal’s eyes. “Maybe I should call her, make sure everything is alright—“

“Absolutely not!” Hannibal’s voice was raised just slightly. Not enough to gain attention from anyone else in the restaurant, but enough to make Will flinch back. There was fury and jealous rage in Hannibal’s eyes for the briefest of seconds, but Will had seen it. Hannibal composed himself quickly and leaned forward, his voice neutral and controlled again, but it wasn’t sincere and Will could feel the lies rolling off his tongue like oil. It was as if a veil had been lifted and he suddenly realized that there was something darker in Hannibal than he had ever imagined.

He swallowed tightly and hoped that the fear didn’t play across his face as he forced himself to stay in the present and listen to what Hannibal was saying.

“I’m sorry,” Hannibal said smoothly. “I just believe that that would be unwise. If Miss Bloom wished to contact you, surely she would have done so. Perhaps she felt that a clean break was what was best for everyone involved.”

Will nodded and kept his lips pressed tightly together, his mind flashing back to the images of Hannibal choking the life out of Alana. Suddenly it didn’t seem like his imagination anymore.

“Maybe,” he said. His voice sounded hoarse and he hoped Hannibal didn’t pick up on that. “I suppose I should just let it go…”

“I think that would the best for everyone,” Hannibal nodded, smiling at him. “Dwelling on it and dragging it out is doing no one any good.”

“Of course,” Will said, swallowing. “You’re right.”

Hannibal seemed pleased with his response and turned the conversation away from the dangerous topic quickly, seeming not to notice that Will was only half paying attention throughout the entire dinner.

* * *

When they arrived back at the apartment, Hannibal pulled him into a kiss and for the first time since their relationship had begun, Will felt cold all over. He missed the usual rush of warmth and pleasure that Hannibal usually brought him and his mind went back over all the years that they’d known each other, wondering if he could be wrong, if maybe he was jumping to conclusions.

Over and over again, however, he kept seeing the flash of anger in Hannibal’s eyes, he remembered the way Hannibal had reacted to his engagement announcement, he remembered the way Hannibal had constantly tried to push the issue of Alana from his mind… He remembered the way Hannibal’s eyes had shone with excitement in Mason’s apartment. It wasn’t that much of a leap to make when he put the pieces together. He really wished that the picture they made wasn’t ripping him apart inside.

Hannibal pulled away slowly, eyes narrowing in worry.

“Will, are you sure that you’re alright? You’ve been distant all night,”

Will smiled faintly. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired. I’ll be fine in the morning, I promise.”

Hannibal seemed skeptical, but he merely pressed another quick kiss to his lips before announcing that he was going to take a shower and meet him in the bedroom. Will felt queasy at the thought of lying next to him all night, but there was no way he could avoid it if he wanted to keep Hannibal from getting too suspicious.

As soon as Will heard the bathroom door close and the water come on in the shower, he stripped his coat off and pulled the crumbled and bent card from the pocket. His heart pounding hard against his ribs, he stared down at it for a long time. Jerkily, he moved toward the phone and dialed as quickly as he could.

Crawford answered almost instantly.

“Agent Crawford…” Will was barely talking above a whisper, afraid of Hannibal hearing him even over the sounds of the shower. “This is Will Graham…”

“Mr. Graham,” Crawford sounded surprised. “I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”

Will closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“You said you think Hannibal was… that he killed Alana,” Will stumbled over the words, not wanting to say them aloud. “Do you—do you have proof?”

“I told you before, Mr. Graham, nothing concrete. We have witness reports that match your brother’s description, but there is nothing we can effectively tie to him at the scene. …Why?”

Will bit his lip and glanced toward the hall leading to the bathroom anxiously. He had hoped that Crawford would say no, that he’d tell him there was absolutely nothing. Even vague and circumstantial evidence seemed like a confirmation to him though.

“Because…” Will felt sick and the words caught in his throat. “Because I believe you. I didn’t want to, but… but I think you’re right. Oh god.” He could feel his stomach churning. The overwhelming urge to vomit suddenly hit him and he had to breathe deeply for a minute to fight it. “I think he did it…”

* * *

Will was not in the bedroom when Hannibal got out of the shower. He found him sitting in the living room, knee bouncing as he stared at the walls. He watched him for a moment before calling out to him.

“Will?”

Will jumped from the couch, wide-eyed, and stared at him.

“H-Hannibal,”

Hannibal frowned. Will had been acting oddly all night and he was beginning to worry that there was something really wrong with the younger man. Surely he would tell him if that were the case though?

“It’s getting late,” he said. “You should shower and come to bed.”

Will nodded distractedly and Hannibal watched him practically dash down the hall to the bathroom. Something had shaken him, clearly. He would wait until morning and give Will time to work through whatever was going on. If he didn’t offer up the information at breakfast Hannibal would simply press him until he told him the truth.

Turning to get ready for bed he spotted Will’s coat lying on the floor in a heap and sighed. Will was not particularly good at putting away his clothing properly and Hannibal had long since stopped trying to learn how to pick up after himself. He bent and snatched it up, folding it carefully over his arm. Something fluttered to the floor and he snatched it up, squinting. It was a small business card, creased and bent. Flipping it over he read the words on the card.

Jack Crawford, FBI.

His eyes flashed and he crushed the card in his fist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is that a cliffhanger? Oops.
> 
> All mistakes are my own. Comments and critques are welcome!


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry for the delay in posting this. I had so much trouble with this chapter--I had to rewrite what I had originally had and I had such writer's block. I'm sorry!
> 
> Head's up--next chapter is going to be... _fun_. Not the good kind of fun either. It's going to hurt. You've been warned.

The following morning, Will woke up with a knot in his stomach. Hannibal was already up; he could hear him in the kitchen moving around just like nearly every other morning. Something was different though. Every sound, every smell, everything seemed somehow more sinister and dangerous than before. Ever since the idea of Hannibal killing Alana had clicked in his head, he couldn’t stop his imagination from running away. If Hannibal was capable of killing her, what else was he capable of doing?

Taking a deep breath, Will tried to steady himself. Hannibal would notice if anything was off, so he had to act like he was totally fine and hadn’t had his entire world turned upside down. He dressed quickly, forcing the thoughts from his mind. He would worry about everything in the afternoon when he met with Crawford again for lunch. He just had to get through breakfast and then everything would be fine.

He made his way quietly to the kitchen, smiling sadly at Hannibal’s back as he watched him work over the stove. Ever since they’d come to Vegas Hannibal had been cooking more. It was one of the few things that seemed to make the older man truly happy and Will had always enjoyed watching him work. He moved fluidly, like it was a performance, a carefully choreographed dance routine. It was beautiful.

Looking at him now, however, all Will could see was the predator-like grace, the surprisingly powerful muscles moving beneath the expensive clothing, flashes of Hannibal’s long fingers wrapping around Alana’s throat… He grimaced and turned his eyes away from Hannibal, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“Good morning,” Hannibal greeted him without turning around. “Did you sleep well?”

Will grimaced and took a gulp of the coffee before answering. It was too hot, burning its way down his throat, but it gave him an excuse for his voice sounding tight and uncomfortable.

“Morning,” he said, half-smiling. “I slept fine, why?”

“You seemed restless,” Hannibal said, turning around, holding a skillet in his hand. He met Will’s eyes for a second and Will jerked his gaze away, feeling stung.

“It was a long day,” Will said. “…And I did have a nightmare, but I’m used to those.”

Hannibal frowned at him. “Are you sure? Nothing else? You seemed very distracted all night…”

Will nodded. “I’m fine,” he insisted. “Everything fine.”

He stared at him for a long time and Will felt like he was trying to read his mind. He stared back and hoped that he wasn’t being too obvious in his discomfort. Finally, Hannibal turned back to the stove, but his shoulders were stiff and he seemed disappointed somehow. Will bit his lip and looked away.

“Breakfast will be ready in about fifteen minutes,” Hannibal said over his shoulder. “Would you mind getting the plates down and setting the table?”

Will didn’t respond, standing and heading silently to the cabinets to gather the dishes. Hannibal didn’t say anything else while he finished cooking and presented the meal. Will could feel the tension and unease like a heavy blanket and he wanted to do something to alleviate the oppressive feeling, but he didn’t know what.

Hannibal kissed him quickly before he left and Will felt cold again, something tugging at the back of his mind. He wanted to believe that it was his imagination. Hannibal didn’t seem angry. He hadn’t snapped his neck or tried to strangle him. Maybe he was just being paranoid. There was no way Hannibal could know, after all. He was probably just worried about Will.

As soon as Hannibal left for the day, Will grabbed the phone and dialed Crawford’s number again, making sure that they were still going to meet for lunch. He still felt the uneasy foreboding when he hung up, but it was probably just his overactive mind making him worry. Everything would work out. It always did, didn’t it?

* * *

Hannibal wasn’t sure exactly how to describe what he was feeling. Will had lied to him, right to his face. Something was going on and it had to do with that FBI agent, he was sure of that. Whatever it was, he could not simply ignore it and wait for Will to come to his senses. This was a problem that had to be taken care of and Will had to be made to understand that lying was unacceptable.

As soon as he got down to the lobby, he used the phone at the desk to make a call to Dolarhyde.

“I have an errand I want you to do for me,” he told him. Dolarhyde responded with heavy breathing. Hannibal wasn’t offended; Dolarhyde rarely spoke unless it was absolutely necessary. “I want you to find an FBI agent, Jack Crawford. I believe he may be in the city. Find him, follow him. Call me tonight and tell me what his movements were. It is important, however, that you not approach him. Do not let him see you. No matter what, I want you to only watch and observe.”

More breathing. “I’ll watch him,” he finally said. “And call you tonight.”

“Excellent.”

Hannibal hung up, but he still felt oddly anxious. He had an idea of what Dolarhyde would report to him later and he wanted more than anything for it to not be true. He knew that if he was right—and he was fairly certain that he was—then he would have no choice but to take action and he found that he was not looking forward to that. Normally he was able to put aside any attachments and do what had to be done, but this was his Will…

He sighed and put it from his mind. He had business to attend to during the day. He would worry about Will and the FBI agent when the time came.

* * *

Will left the meeting with Crawford with a headache. He’d sat through nearly three hours of nothing but talking. Even on a normal day that would have been exhausting for Will—any extended amount of time spent one-on-one with people tended to drain him and spending hours discussing the uncomfortable subject of Hannibal’s criminal activity was more than stressful.

Most of the information wasn’t surprising to Will—he knew exactly what kind of business the Lecter Family was in and though he felt like a traitor, he corroborated whatever he could and hesitantly agreed to testify if it came to that. It was the evidence and reports about the murders, and about Alana, that were hard to hear. Crawford had been watching Hannibal for years and all during the war he’d kept a distant eye on his activities. He was able to prove a connection between Hannibal and Alana with her numerous visits to the house. Which was when it slowly began to dawn on Will how far Hannibal’s lies spread.

He’d never told him about Alana showing up multiple times during the war. He’d obviously lied when he killed her. If he could have kept that from him, what else was he lying about? What else had Hannibal done and kept from him? The traitorous thoughts slowly turned to horrified, angry thoughts. He had thought that he’d known Hannibal better than anyone, that Hannibal was the one person in his life that he could count on. If he didn’t have that, what did he have?

On the way back to the apartment he spotted the familiar figure of Francis Dolarhyde in the crowd. It was difficult to miss him, really, with his hulking height and the hard to hide scars. Still, he was keeping his distance and didn’t follow Will. Will felt a bit sick at the sight of him so near where he had met with Crawford. The unease that he had been feeling since that morning returned tenfold.

Hannibal must suspect something. Maybe he’d had Dolarhyde following him since he’d left the apartment. He had to do something to ease Hannibal’s suspicion. Hopefully Dolarhyde didn’t know who he’d been meeting. Crawford and he had agreed that it might be dangerous to meet at the FBI office so they had met in hotel room. There was a chance that Dolarhyde had found out who he was meeting, but Will had to cling to some form of hope. When Hannibal got home he would do as much damage control as was possible. And if it was too late, he would need a backup plan. He decided that the best bet would be to call Crawford and warn him as soon as he got back to the apartment. At least that way he would have of his bases covered before facing Hannibal.

* * *

“Are you certain that it was Will?” Hannibal asked, feeling something sinking inside of him. He had wanted so much for it not to be true.

Dolarhyde called him just as he was about to head home. He told him everything that Crawford had done that day. It was not a long list—Crawford spent most his time at the FBI field office and the rest of the time at his hotel, where Will had been seen entering around one PM. Dolarhyde hadn’t been able to confirm that Will had visited Crawford’s room, but Hannibal didn’t really need to see any records to know that that was where Will had gone. Will had betrayed him.

Dolarhyde had asked if he would like him to take care of Will, but Hannibal felt that this was something personal, something that he had to deal with himself. He gave Dolarhyde orders to continue watching Crawford and to take care of him in his hotel room that night—any evidence and files that the agent had were to be destroyed.

Now he just had to figure out what he was going to do about Will. It would have to be tonight; he couldn’t risk letting Will’s treachery destroy the Family. Whatever was happening had to be stopped immediately. Will had returned to the apartment after his meeting with Crawford so at least Hannibal wouldn’t have to track him down.

With a heavy sigh, he snapped his briefcase closed and headed out, still debating about what he was going to do about Will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, all mistakes are my own. Comments and critiques are welcome.


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaack!
> 
> I'm sorry for the unexpected break guys, really. I had a lot going on all at once. Finals, family issues, a new job... Everything seemed to hit all at once and I apologize. Hopefully this will be worth your wait.

Will heard the lock on the door turning and felt his chest tighten in terror. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths before making his way to the entrance to greet Hannibal. Whatever Hannibal suspected and whatever he knew, Will was determined to make sure that he acted as normal as possible. Hopefully that would be enough to soothe some of Hannibal’s doubts.

He forced a smile onto his face when Hannibal entered, but the other man didn’t so much as glance at him. Instead he turned and closed the door and Will heard the faint click as the lock slid back into place. Will’s heart thudded in his chest as Hannibal finally turned to face him.

His expression was unreadable. There was nothing there but stony resilience and flat, cold eyes. Will swallowed hard and hoped that his fear didn’t show on his face.

“I didn’t expect you home so early,” he said, keeping his voice light.

Hannibal slipped his coat off and hung it neatly in the closet beside the door. He said nothing for a long moment and Will wondered if he was going to say anything at all.

“My last meeting didn’t take as long as I anticipated,” Hannibal finally spoke. He eyed Will up and down with a suddenly sharp gleam in his eyes. “How was your day?”

Will felt an irrational longing to drop to his knees and immediately confess everything and beg for forgiveness. He shrugged casually. “Fine,” he said.

Hannibal nodded, his eyes narrowed just slightly. “Did you do anything interesting while I was out?”

_Fuck, he knows._

For a second blind panic seized Will and he had to fight not to start hyperventilating. It was hopeless to continue lying to him at that point, Will knew, but he wasn’t entirely willing to admit anything either.

“Not really,” he said. “I mostly just stayed in the apartment, reading. I went out for lunch, but…”

Hannibal’s head cocked to the side just slightly and his eyes seemed so much darker than Will had ever seen them before. He knew it had to be his imagination, but in one second Hannibal seemed to have shifted from composed businessman to deadly predator. Will’s mind immediately kicked into high gear, trying to think of the best way to survive whatever was about to happen.

Hannibal was blocking the door and had locked it. He wouldn’t be getting out of the apartment that easily so running wasn’t exactly an option. He had a gun in the dresser in their bedroom, but Hannibal would surely catch him before he managed to get to it. The kitchen was closer and in his mind’s eye he could see Hannibal’s collection of knives sitting by the sink. His legs trembled, but it was his best option. He might be able to make it there before Hannibal could grab him if he moved quickly enough…

He had no idea what Hannibal was going to do to him anyway. He tried to figure out what Hannibal’s plan was, but he had never been especially good at pinpointing Hannibal’s motives and ideas. At the moment, his face was entirely blank and unreadable, cold as a shark’s.

Will edged backwards just slightly, hoping that the movement wasn’t too obvious. He fought the urge to look over his shoulder toward the kitchen. He tensed and readied himself to bolt to the knives, but Hannibal suddenly sighed heavily and Will felt frozen in place as he pinned him down with a heavy stare.

“I really dislike lying, Will,” he said.

Just like that, Will’s thoughts of survival left him as the pent up anger started to bubble to the surface. Before he could stop himself he laughed a harsh, bitter laugh.

“ _You_ dislike lying?” he demanded. “From what I’ve heard lately hardly anything you ever said to me was the truth! But I guess lying is okay when you do it.”

Hannibal took a step toward him and Will took an involuntary step back, nearly stumbling. He hoped that he was still managing to keep the horrified expression off of his face.

“Every lie I ever told you was to protect you, Will,” Hannibal said.

“Protect me,” Will said flatly. “Lying to me about Alana’s visits while I was in Paris? That was to protect me? _Killing_ her? That was to _protect_ me?” His voice broke and he felt hot, angry tears stinging his eyes.

Hannibal’s brows lifted slightly. He had apparently not realized how much Will had figured out. After a second, his expression softened and he took another step forward, hands out and open placating. Will didn’t trust it for a moment, stumbling backwards quickly. Quietly, Hannibal said, “Did Jack Crawford tell you that?”

“Don’t,” Will shook his head. “Don’t make this about that. You killed her, Hannibal. You _murdered_ her. I saw the pictures!” His voice gradually increased in volume until he was nearly yelling.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Hannibal said.

“You’re—I—You’re _sorry?_ ”

“But that does not excuse what you have done.” Hannibal continued as if Will hadn’t spoken, his voice as hard as steel. “Now tell me: how much did you tell Agent Crawford?”

Will felt lightheaded with the anger and the fear that gave everything a slightly red tinge. He clenched his fists and glared at the other man, damning him silently for his coolness at a moment like this.

“Everything,” he snapped. “I told him everything. There’s nothing you can do to fix it. No matter what, you’re not going to get away with it.”

Hannibal’s eyes flashed and his composure faltered for just a moment, but it was enough for Will to see the intense rage building inside of the other man. He fought the urge to shrink back from it, knowing that there was little chance of him escaping unscathed from such fury.

Sadly, Hannibal shook his head.

“You’ve made a grave mistake, Will. I never wanted to have to hurt you.”

For half a second, Will stood there, breathing harshly and then he spun and ran as fast as he could to the kitchen. Hannibal moved swiftly and silently behind him. He spotted the knives on the counter and reached out toward them, managing to wrap his fingers around one large black handle before he felt Hannibal crashing into him, pressing him roughly into the counter.

He struggled fiercely, writhing beneath the older man, slashing backwards with the knife. He hit something and heard Hannibal hiss and for a moment swelled with happiness. Then a large hand was pinning his wrist to the counter and squeezing so tightly that his fingers went numb around the hilt of the blade. Hannibal wrestled the weapon from him easily and then his other hand was in his hair, yanking his head back.

“Did you really think it would be that easy?”

Panting, Will clenched his eyes shut and shook his head. “No,” he spat roughly. He went still for a moment and felt Hannibal’s grip on him relax minutely. Then he slammed one foot backwards on top of Hannibal’s as hard as he could before jamming the elbow of his free arm into Hannibal’s ribs and throwing his head back.

He heard a satisfying crunch as his head made contact with Hannibal’s face. He pushed backwards against him and twisted his way out of his grip, darting from the kitchen with Hannibal only seconds behind him.

He’d never manage to unlock the front door before Hannibal caught him so he raced down the hall toward the bedroom and slammed the door just before Hannibal reached it. Shaking badly, he twisted the lock and slid down to the floor, burying his face in his hands and trying not to sob.

“Open the door, Will,”

Hannibal still sounded so damn calm. It was infuriating. Will gritted his teeth and said nothing. Everything was tense and silent for a heavy second and then the door rattled against its hinges and Will jerked to his feet, spinning to face the door. It rattled again. Hannibal was trying to break the door down. The next time it rattled Will heard wood splintering and his heart thudded painfully in his chest. It was only a matter of time before Hannibal knocked the door from its framing.

Frantically, Will raced to the bedside table and yanked the drawer out, dumping the contents onto the floor. His revolver dropped heavily and he snatched it up, checking the chamber and swearing when he realized it was empty. He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself down enough to stop his hands from shaking. The bullets were in the closet, far back on the shelf. He hurried toward it and grimaced when the door rattled and the wood started cracking.

He threw boxes of shoes and neatly folded sweaters to the floor. A photo album spilled to the ground and he reached blindly around until he finally snatched the cardboard box and spilled the bullets out onto the floor. Behind him, the bedroom door screeched in protest as Hannibal rammed it again. Fumbling, Will nearly dropped the bullets as he tried to slide them into the chamber one at a time.

It took him thirty very long seconds but finally all six chambers were loaded and he quickly jumped to his feet just in time for the framing to break away from the wall. Hannibal entered, knife clutched in his hand. His hair was disheveled and his eyes blazed with an unholy look of fury. Blood dripped from his mouth and nose where Will had head-butted him and there was a shallow gash along one of his arms from the knife.

He was panting heavily and suddenly looked very much like an uncontrollable force of nature, pure rage and hell fire. Will lifted the gun in badly shaking hands and tried to force his breathing to even out. He had killed before. He was not especially looking forward to doing it again, and certainly not someone he had cared so much about, but if that was what it took…

Hannibal’s eyes never strayed from Will’s face as he stepped further into the room. Will stumbled backwards half a step and pulled the hammer back.

“You aren't going to shoot me,” Hannibal said confidently.

“Really? ‘Cause from where I’m standing that’s exactly what it looks like I’m gonna do,”

Hannibal smiled. It was a wide smile that showed his teeth, bloody and unhinged. Will flinched back, but kept his grip on the gun and managed to keep the weapon from shaking too badly.

“You can’t shoot me,”

“My gun says otherwise,” Will gritted out, finger resting on the trigger. He tried to steel himself to do what he knew he should.

“No,” Hannibal said gently. “You can’t shoot me because you don’t _want_ to shoot me. You care too much.”

“Not that much,” Will snapped.

Hannibal took another step forward. Will tightened his finger on the trigger and held his ground.

“Shoot me then,” he said, holding his arms wide, the knife gleaming in the light. Will’s eyes followed it for a second before turning back to Hannibal’s face.

“Don’t tempt me,”

Hannibal tossed the knife to the side and took two more very deliberate steps forward. He was inches away from Will now and his eyes never left Will’s. Carefully, cautiously, he lifted a hand up toward Will. Will flinched, but didn't back up, keeping his gun trained straight at Hannibal’s chest. Gently, Hannibal rested his hand on Will’s face.

“Shoot me,” he said again, his eyes unfathomable. Will stared into them for the longest time that he could ever remember. Hannibal stepped forward again, suddenly pressed right up against the gun’s barrel. Will’s breathing was suddenly erratic and he thought of all the years he and Hannibal had spent together, of the nights they’re shared together. He hated him for ruining those happy memories, hated him for taking away the one good thing he’d thought he’d ever had.

Jaw tightening, Will looked right in Hannibal’s eyes and swiftly aimed the gun downward, pulling the trigger.

It went off with a loud explosion; Will’s ears rung with the noise, but Hannibal barely made a sound beyond a faint grunt as he crumbled to the ground, clutching at his knee where the bullet at apparently gone clean through. Blood was already pooling beneath the wound and Will stared at it.

“The next bullet goes in your head,” he said, surprised at how calm he suddenly sounded.

Surprised even more when Hannibal just grinned at him, bloody teeth flashing again. A second later he realized why that was when Hannibal moved—far too swiftly for a man just shot in the knee—and snatched the knife where it lay on the floor. Before Will could properly react, Hannibal lunged upward and knocked him to the ground. The gun skittered away under the bed and Will tried to reach for it, but his head was suddenly knocked to the side by a heavy blow.

His ears were still ringing from the gunshot, and the punch to the temple made the room spin horribly. Hannibal was sitting on top of him, holding the knife. His left leg was at an awkward angle and it had to have been painful, but aside from a sheen of sweat and a pale face, Hannibal look unaffected.

Staring up at him, Will felt something very cold trickle into him. He lifted his chin, exposing his throat.

“Kill me then,” he said. “It won’t matter. You’re still going to prison.”

Hannibal put the tip of the blade at the base of his throat, tracing it along his jugular with a faint smile. He leaned down and pressed his lips to Will’s softly, running a hand through his hair.

“I’m not going to kill you, Will,” he said, and Will’s heart picked up pace again. “That would be a terrible waste."

He dropped the knife again and before Will could wonder what he was doing, he wrapped his hands around his throat, pressing down with all of his might. Will tried to scream, tried to fight him off, but Hannibal was stronger than he was and it only took a minute for the world to start going fuzzy. He choked, trying to pull in air. His chest burned like he was on fire and all he could see for a moment was the red glint in Hannibal’s eyes.

He jerked his head this way and that, trying to yank free. And then his eyes caught something reflective shining next to him. The knife. Feeling faint and certain that he was going to pass out any moment, Will used the last of his strength to grab the blade. His hand wrapped around the cutting end of the knife and blood welled, red-black, from the newly formed gash. He would have hissed if he’d had to air left to do so. Instead, he gritted his teeth and pulled the handle of the knife into his throbbing hand.

He looked back up toward Hannibal, meeting his steady gaze. Hannibal didn't seem to notice what he was doing, too intently focused on stealing every last bit of breath he had. Will’s limbs felt heavy and uncoordinated. Blackness was creeping into his vision. He had little time if he wanted to survive this.

He thrust upward with the knife and smiled weakly when Hannibal’s eyes bulged and his hands slid from Will’s throat. He looked down to see the knife sticking into his gut, blood blooming out like a grotesque flower. Slowly, he looked back toward Will, who was trying to keep his eyes open while greedily pulling in oxygen.

Hannibal’s expression was oddly gentle as he leaned down again, one hand slipping as he tried to touch his face. His lips brushed against Will’s and Will let his eyes close heavily, faintly wishing that the kiss didn't feel so damn good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that happened...
> 
> As always, all mistakes are my own. Comments and critiques are welcome with open arms!
> 
> Happy Holidays everyone! I'll see you guys after Christmas. Hopefully I'll be able to update next Saturday, but seeing as I won't know my schedule until tomorrow, I don't know. I will do everything I can to update sometime next week though.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the lateness, guys. I was far busier than I thought I would be. I hope you can forgive me.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for your comments and support, you guys are fantastic!

The first time Will woke, he was alone. His head ached and he feared that the thrumming pressure behind his temples would cause him to explode. The room was blurry when he cracked his eyes; he couldn’t make out much except that the walls were a mint green color and there were guard rails on the bed. He was aware of a faint beeping noise and the smell of ammonia and then the darkness claimed him again.

He stirred again, hours later, with a clearer mind. The vicious pounding in his head had subsided enough that he felt safe trying to sit up. The room was much the same—green walls, the lingering smell of chemicals and the persistent beeping of some monitor or other. It dawned on him in inches that he was still alive. That was unexpected.

The last thing he remembered were Hannibal’s hands, rough and strong against his throat, squeezing the life out of him. Everything was a painful, surreal sort of blur. He wasn’t sure what had happened first or where all the pieces of his memory fit together, just that the very last thing was Hannibal killing him.

So how had he managed to survive? How had he gotten to this hospital? He looked around wearily, but there were no clues. He was still alone with nothing but the faint beeping to comfort him. Doing a quick scan of his body he noticed deep bruises on his wrists, small cuts he didn’t remember getting, and he was certain there was one hell of a knot on the side of his head. A finger cuff was apparently monitoring his heart-rate and thin breathing nodules were strapped to his face.

He swallowed reflexively and groaned, the motion sending sharp flashes of pain through his throat. He brought his hands up to his neck, pushing and prodding experimentally. It must’ve been bruised terribly; the flesh was swollen and tender. He grimaced as he ran his hands over the abused skin. His mind flashed to the photographs Crawford had shown him of Alana—the dark pattern of bruises ringing her throat. He imagined the ones on his throat were probably very similar.

Too slow, his mind jumped to terror. If Hannibal had known about him and his meeting with Crawford, then he would have covered his tracks. Will might have survived, but where was Agent Crawford? Hannibal surely would’ve sent someone after him. He remembered seeing Dolarhyde that day in the city and his gut twisted. Dolarhyde was a monster. If Hannibal had sent him after the FBI agent…

He clenched his fists and tried to breathe slowly, ignoring the bursts of pain that lanced through his throat. One thing at a time. He needed to figure out where he was and how he had gotten here. What had happened after he’d passed out? He closed his eyes and tried to remember past the fuzzy ache of pain and muddled recollection.

He remembered the bitter taste of panic in the back of his mouth, the certainty that he was going to die… and a sudden flash that surged through him like hope. The sharp edge of a blade glittering too bright under yellow lights. Shock, soft lips, hot blood sticking his fingers together. A heavy weight suddenly pressing down on him and then darkness again.

He’d stabbed Hannibal.

That was why he was still alive. That was why he had escaped with such surprisingly minimal injuries. But… had Hannibal survived? The thought brought an unpleasant curl to his stomach. He found himself hoping that the other man was still alive, that he hadn’t managed to kill him in his desperation to save his own life. As much as the fury and betrayal burned like a fire in his blood for what Hannibal had done to him, for all of his lies, Will found he didn’t particularly enjoy the idea of him being dead.

Even if Hannibal _had_ survived though, that hardly explained how he had gotten to the hospital. Who had taken him? Had Hannibal, in some fit of remorse? Had he managed to get to a phone and call an ambulance before the blood loss caught up to him? Had someone else heard the noise of the gunshot and called the police? They were mostly isolated in their apartment, but it wasn’t entirely impossible…

He had so many questions and he knew he wasn’t going to get them sitting in some hospital room. Resolved, he threw the itchy blanket off of himself and swung his legs around. Too quickly. Blood rushed to his head at the suddenly movement and he had to steady himself to keep from toppling over. After a moment, he pushed himself out of the bed, tearing the heart monitor and breathing tubes away. The beeping went haywire, but Will paid the noise no attention; he had more important things to worry about.

Looking around the room, he realized that none of his personal belongings were there, not even a change of clothes. He was wearing the thin, too short hospital gown and socks, but nothing else. Unhappy, but still not entire deterred, he made his way to the door, only to have the handle pulled out of his grasp before he could open it.

A harried looking nurse was standing there, frowning at him. A tall man was standing beside her, a blank look on his face.

“Mr. Graham!” the nurse snapped, her eyes sharp. “You aren’t supposed to be out of bed.” She started ushering him toward the bed briskly, ignoring his protests. She quickly had the monitor hooked back up, but at his insistence didn’t force the breathing nodules back on him.

“There,” she said, hands on her hips. “Now, Mr. Graham, please stay in bed until the physician says that you can move. You sustained a nasty blow to the head; you need to rest.” She turned toward the man who had accompanied her for the first time. “You’ve got a visitor,” she said. “I’ll be back to check on you in _one hour_. The doctor should be back shortly.” She leveled him with a serious look, as if she already knew he was likely to cause trouble. “Stay put.”

With that, she turned and left him alone with the stranger. Will was annoyed, but studied the man, wondering if he could have the answers he wanted. He was wearing a dark suit, standing rigidly straight, his hair clean cut and slicked back, clean shaven, but with tired eyes. There was a gun hidden carefully, but not well enough, in a shoulder holster beneath his jacket. A cop. Maybe FBI.

“Mr. Graham,” the man greeted him. “I’m Agent Smith, with the FBI. I worked with Jack Crawford.”

Will’s heart leapt at that—worry, hope,  and fear all dancing through him at once. One question burned in the forefront of his mind and he blurted it out without thinking.

“Why isn’t Agent Crawford here to talk to me?”

Smith’s already thin-lipped expression tightened minutely. “Agent Crawford was grievously injured last night. It seems that someone attacked him. Nearly killed him.”

“Someone…” Will echoed. “But he—he’ll live?”

Smith nodded curtly. “The doctors seem to believe so, though recovery will take a while. He was stabbed multiple times beaten severely. His assailant was a… large man.”

“Dolarhyde…” Will whispered, partly in awe. How on earth had Crawford managed to survive _Dolarhyde_? The man was more monster than human—huge and powerful. He did nothing _but_ kill for the Family.

Smith raised a brow sharply. “You believe you know the attacker?”

Will blinked, looking up at the man slowly. He cleared his throat. “Um… maybe…? Francis Dolarhyde is a… hit man, I suppose is the term. I spotted him following me… I thought…” he trailed off, frowning.

“A hit man? For who?”

“For my…” Will caught himself and frowned. “F-For Hannibal Lecter.”

“Mmm,” Smith nodded. “That will be helpful then. With an ID tracking down Agent Crawford’s assailant will be somewhat easier.”

“You don’t have him in custody?!” Will’s voice lurched a bit and he sat forward quickly, his eyes wide. For a second, he felt a familiar sort of terror seize him. If Dolarhyde was still out there… he remembered the man’s fierce loyalty to the Family and wondered what he would do if he learned of Will’s betrayal. “You have to find him!”

The beeping on the heart monitor was too fast. He wondered if he were having a heart attack, but there wasn’t any pain so maybe it was all in his head.

“Calm down, Mr. Graham, we’re looking. At the moment, I need to talk to you about your discussion with Agent Crawford.”

Will sucked in a sharp breath, grimacing. He said nothing.

“In light of the recent events the FBI has decided to place you in protective custody, until the end of the trial.”

“Trial?”

“Hannibal Lecter,” Smith answered. “He was taken into custody last night.”

“You arrested him?”

“Formal charges have already been filed, yes. He will be informed when he wakes.”

Will felt that small ball of tension in his stomach release, and then return ten-fold. Hannibal was alive. Hannibal had been arrested. There was going to be a trail. And he had agreed to testify. Shit.

“He’s alive then,”

Smith nodded. “And in stable condition. He lost a considerable amount of blood, but the ambulance arrived in time to save him.”

“Ambulance…?” Will frowned. “How… how did they know to be there?”

“Agent Crawford sent a team of agents to check out the apartment after he got your message about being followed. He feared that Mr. Lecter might do something to attempt to silence you.” Smith’s lips twitched toward a smile for the first time. “It appears you handled yourself quite well in that area, though.”

Will laughed, but it was a hollow, bitter sound. “It appears so…”

Smith simply nodded curtly. He pulled the single chair in the room closer to the bed and sat down. “Now, we’re going to need your official account of what happened last night, of course, but that can wait. We’ll have some agents come by later to take your statement. We’re assuming it was self-defense...”

Will nodded numbly. His head was spinning a bit. He’d thought he would have a bit more time to adjust to all of this, but it was all slamming into him at once.

“Right. Well, we’ll be proceeding to trial as soon as Mr. Lecter is deemed well enough, which should be soon enough, so we’re going to need to go over everything you spoke with Agent Crawford about. We’ll need to start going over your testimony with the DA tomorrow. For now, I just want to verify everything you’ve already told us…”

He paused, squinting at Will, seeming to notice the far-off look in his eyes for the first time.

“Are you up to that, Mr. Graham?”

“Y-Yeah,” Will nodded, trying to settle his expression into one of neutrality. “Yes. Let’s get started…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... yeah. Next chapter we'll find out how Hannibal's doing.
> 
> We're coming in on the homestretch. I'm so looking forward to this. It's gonna be _fun_.
> 
> All mistakes are my own. Comments and critiques are welcome!
> 
> I will try to update again sometime next week, but I've got a pretty full schedule so it might not happen. I will post as soon as possible, though, I promise.


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so, so sorry for the ridiculous month long wait! I did not mean to be gone so long, but I got super busy and hardly ever just sat down to write. This chapter is so much shorter than I wanted it to be and took far too long to write and I feel awful. I'm so sorry, guys.
> 
> Thank you so much for you lovely comments and for being patient with me. I really appreciate it.

Hannibal woke chained to a hospital bed. As if that weren’t indignity enough, he was also wearing a thin hospital gown that barely fit him properly. He had little time to collect his thoughts enough to be truly offended before two armed police officers entered, flanking a tall man in a stiff suit. Hannibal could practically smell the FBI on him. He was, however, pleased to note that the agent wasn’t Jack Crawford. Dolarhyde had at least taken care of that thorn in his side.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Hannibal greeted them, grimacing slightly at the effort. His voice was rough from lack of use and it was surprisingly painful to talk. He felt something tugging just under his ribcage.

The officers remained stone-faced and silent. The FBI agent stepped forward and stared him down with a steely gaze.

“Hannibal Lecter you have been charged with criminal racketeering, extortion, the attempted murder of one Mr. William Graham, and the murder of one Miss Alana Bloom,” the agent on the left said.

So Will had survived. Hannibal wasn’t necessarily surprised to learn that; Will had stabbed him before losing consciousness so it made sense that he’d had enough air left in his lungs to stay alive before Hannibal had passed out. He mulled over that information for a moment, uncertain how he felt about it. Part of him was quietly proud of Will for being resilient and resourceful enough to keep himself alive. Another part was furious at his betrayal and itched to make him suffer for the wounds he had given him, both physically and emotionally.

“You are under arrest. You will remain here until such time as the doctor deems you fit enough to leave. At that point you will be transferred to a state holding facility where you will await trial.”

Will’s voice floated through his mind.

_“I told him everything. There’s nothing you can do to fix it. No matter what, you’re not going to get away with it.”_

It seemed that Will had not been lying. If he had betrayed him, the entire Family was going to come crumbling into ruin. It would certainly be the biggest victory the FBI had had against organized crime in years.

“There are also numerous other charges pending, including several more deaths and an attack on a federal agent,” the agent went on. “You will be notified if and when the additional charges are formally added.”

Hannibal raised a brow. “Attack on a federal agent?”

The man’s lips tightened. “Special Agent Jack Crawford was found brutally attacked in his hotel room just last night. We have it on good authority that the attack was carried out by an associate of yours.”

“Ah,” Hannibal nodded, his eyes narrowing. “Agent Crawford survived this attack?” After all the trouble he had caused him, Hannibal very much wanted Jack Crawford dead in the most painful way possible.

Something flashed in the man’s eyes. “His doctors are very optimistic,” he told him. “Now, if you don’t mind, Mr. Lecter, I have some questions for you—“

“I’m afraid I do mind,” Hannibal cut the man off. “Your questions will have to wait until I’ve spoken to my lawyer. It would be greatly appreciated if you could contact him for him. I’d also like to talk with my aunt, Theresa Lecter. She must be terribly worried.”

The agent let out a slow, steady breath, not even blinking at Hannibal’s refusal to answer questions.

“Of course. I believe your aunt arrived some hours ago to check on your status as well as Mr. Graham’s.”

Hannibal nodded. He wondered whose side his aunt would take in this matter. He was her blood, but she had always had a soft spot for Will, ever since he had first introduced her to the young boy all those years ago. There was also the matter of her never quite agreeing with the way that her husband and her nephew had earned their living… Of course, she was also a fiercely loyal woman and family meant everything to her. She would potentially resent Will for his sudden betrayal.

“Thank you,” he said genially. “And I have just one more question: may I speak with Will?”

The agent’s eyes widened a bit at that particular request. “That would be up the Mr. Graham and the DA, and I’m sure that the DA will advise against it.”

“Ah, of course,” Hannibal nodded. “Still, I would appreciate you asking Will. We were regrettably unable to finish out last conversation.”

The agent narrowed his eyes.

“Do you realize the severity of the charges against you, Mr. Lecter? You have far more pressing things to be worry about, wouldn’t you think?”

“Oh, I realize very much what the charges against me mean,” Hannibal said. “That’s precisely why I wanted to talk to Will. Until then, unless there’s anything else, I would like to speak with my aunt.”

“Of course. We’ll speak again, Mr. Lecter. Good day.” He tipped his hat and turned to leave, followed by the officers.

Hannibal noticed the cops stopped just outside of his door and stayed there. Playing guard. Nothing he hadn’t expected. Now that the FBI had such a high profile gangster in their custody they weren’t going to take any chances of him escaping. The thought made Hannibal seethe quietly; here he was, chained to a bed like some common criminal, soon to be caged like an animal. The very idea was vile.

He pondered this new situation and tried to think of a way out of it. Will would certainly provide a damning testimony against him and the Family. He would either have to convince Will not to testify, or make it so he couldn’t. Though, the only real way to stop Will’s testimony seemed to involve killing him and Hannibal wasn’t entirely sure that he wanted that. If it became unavoidable, however, he would do what he must for his own safety and that of the Family.

The thought of a life where he could no longer see Will, or touch him, or talk to him… it sent a pang of something cold through his chest. It felt a bit like the way he had felt after Mischa’s death. As if a part of him had been torn forcefully from his very soul. Of course, if Will had his way, Hannibal would certainly never see or hear from him again anyway. He would lose his freedom and his entire way of life. He couldn’t allow Will to take that from him.

His musings were interrupted by a soft knock on the hospital room door before his aunt slowly entered. He could tell immediately that she had been crying. Her eyes were ringed in red and puffy. Her usually neat hair was in a disheveled bun and she had missed a button doing up her blouse. Her skirt was wrinkled.

Immediately she broke out into a long, frantic string of Lithuanian, her eyes wide and worried. She spoke so fast that Hannibal hardly caught what she was saying.

“I’m fine; I’m alright, Aunt Theresa. I assure you. No permanent damage.” At least not physically, thought he imagined his stab wound would scar beautifully.

Theresa swallowed roughly before speaking again, this time in English. “What is going on, Hannibal? The police showed up, the FBI… Will says that you tried to kill him and now you are under arrest!” Her rough accent marred the words as they spilled from her too quickly. Hannibal felt a bit guilty for being partially to blame for her panic. Will, of course, was far guiltier than he.

“It seems that Will has decided to tell the FBI about the Family business,” Hannibal said slowly, choosing his words very carefully. “We had a bit of a disagreement and I’m afraid his way of getting back at me resulted in me having to resort to drastic measures.”

Aunt Theresa sank into the chair beside his bed, her head shaking as she stared at him. “You two have always been so close, Hannibal. What could have possibly caused all of this?”

Hannibal was not entirely sure. Was it really Alana Bloom’s death that sent this entire sorted affair into motion? Had Will been plotting to betray him for months, for weeks? Merely days? He had no way of knowing. He hadn’t exactly been able to have a full conversation with Will about the matter. He was certain Alana’s murder was at least part of it; even in death Alana Bloom was coming between him and Will.

“It’s a personal matter, Aunt Theresa. Nothing you need to be concerned about.”

Aunt Theresa sighed heavily. “What are we going to do, Hannibal? What are you going to do? Our family is going to be ripped apart.” Fresh tears shone in her eyes.

“Don’t worry; I’ll fix it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone wondering why Smith didn't read Hannibal his Miranda rights when letting him know he was under arrest: this takes place in 1948, while the Miranda v. Arizona court case, which resulted in law enforcement being required to inform people of their rights at the time of arrest, did not happen until 1966
> 
> Next chapter shall have some interesting things happening... It may, unfortunately, take a while for me to write, but I will have it up as soon as possible. Hopefully it'll also be lengthier. 
> 
> All mistakes are my own. Comments and critiques are welcome!


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for yet another month-long wait for a chapter. I have been so busy that it's driving me insane. I seriously expected to have this story finished by now. We're not that far from the end, but it's taken me much longer to update than I would like. I feel awful. Just think back to how I used to update every week and know I'm not doing this on purpose.

_New York City — March, 1948_

 

Three weeks went by in a surreal blur. Will spent over a week talking to FBI agents, attorney, and prosecutors, going over his official statement and their case against Hannibal. He was released from the hospital after the first two days; after that he was spirited away to a hotel room and kept under constant guard, not allowed to leave for any reason. He wasn’t even allowed to see Aunt Theresa after being moved from the hospital. His only visitors were the constant barrage of agents and government officials. He felt as if he was the one on trial and wondered if Hannibal was going through the same treatment.

He was told that Hannibal was finally released from the hospital six days after himself; apparently the stab wound had not been as severe as Will had assumed. After that Hannibal was transferred to a holding facility while all the charges were being sorted out. It didn’t take long for New York to file extradition papers and within two weeks Hannibal was being transported from Vegas to New York to stand trial.

Will was moved from the hotel and escorted to the airport by Agent Smith, headed back to New York, where everything had started.  Apparently Crawford was recovering, but would still need to stay in the hospital for a while more; Dolarhyde had done serious damage before Crawford had managed to fight him off and get away. Hannibal would probably be thrilled with that. Though, perhaps he would be upset that Crawford had survived. And of course, there was still no sign of Dolarhyde. Will was certain he hadn’t just vanished. Dolarhyde was biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to take him out of the picture. Yet another thing for Will to have nightmares about.

He was currently going over his testimony, _again_ , with the District Attorney and Agent Smith.

He rubbed his eyes tiredly. They’d been at it for hours and he could feel a headache building behind his temples.

“Can we take a break?” he asked. “We’ve gone over this a hundred times already.”

The DA made a face and peered at Will from over his glasses. “Mr. Graham, this is quite possible the biggest case of this decade. We need to go over this testimony forwards and backwards. It is essential that we have every detail considered and thought out. If we give them any leeway, anything—“

“I understand that!” Will snapped. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, collecting his scattered thoughts. “I understand that,” he repeated. “I know how important this is and how much you and the FBI are counting on this, but I am _tired_. We’ve gone over this hundreds of times.” He swallowed roughly.

“And in case you forgot, this is my _family_ that we are talking about. My brother. I am… I am betraying a man who has been there for me since I was eight years old. This isn’t exactly _easy_ for me!”

“That is precisely why we must have this completely and thoroughly thought-out! If you let your emotional attachment to Hannibal Lecter show during the trail—“

“I won’t!”

“If you give them anything that makes Lecter more sympathetic—“

Will groaned and stood up, feeling restless. “I just want to take a break from all of this! I want to walk outside, I want to go somewhere without police officers shadowing my every move!”

“It’s for your protection, Mr. Graham,” Agent Smith said. “We are dealing with very dangerous men here and you are threatening everything that they have. Francis Dolarhyde is still out there, very likely looking for you.”

Will slumped back down into his seat and nodded wearily. “Right, right. Fine. Just… can we take a break? The trial isn’t for another two months; we can just pick back up where we left off tomorrow.”

The DA growled, but glanced at Smith and nodded. “Fine. Tomorrow. I’ll be here at nine thirty.”

He stormed out and Will watched him go before turning back to Smith.

“I want to see Hannibal,”

“Mr. Graham—“

“No, just… please. I just want to see him. I have to talk to him, one last time...” He stared at the agent with wide eyes. He was asking a lot, he knew, but he hadn’t left the apartment since arriving back in the city and all he wanted was to look at something besides the bland walls of his little prison.

Smith huffed. “Fine. But I will be present the entire time.” Will smiled gratefully. Smith grimaced at him. “Grab your coat. Don’t make me regret this, Graham.”

* * *

The room was cold and grey. Will looked around the narrow, confined space for a long moment before ever turning his attention to the figure chained to the plastic table in front of him.

Hannibal looked so out of place sitting there in the white jumpsuit, metal cuffs gleaming on his hands. His hair was hanging loose, free of the usual strict order that Hannibal valued so much. It was strange to see him like that. He sat rigidly in the hard seat and stared at Will with fathomless eyes. Will hesitated before taking a step forward and pulling out the chair across from his brother.

Agent Smith was a silent, watchful figure against the far wall.

Hannibal said nothing and Will wasn’t sure how to start the conversation. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say or why he wanted to speak to him. He had vehemently refused to speak to Hannibal weeks ago when they were both still in the hospital. But weeks of being closed off from the outside world, weeks of being able to reflect on what he had done and what the consequences would be, made Will desperate to talk to the other man. He wanted to understand why Hannibal had hurt him the way he had… And if he were being honest, he also wanted Hannibal to understand why he had done what he had done. He wanted his forgiveness, even if he himself hadn’t forgiven Hannibal.

Finally unable to stand the stiff silence, Will took a shaky breath. “You look… well,” he said.

Hannibal’s lips quirked just slightly, amusement filling his eyes.

“Considering I was recently stabbed, I would say that I look remarkable.”

Will’s eyes darted to the table and he grimaced.

“You tried to kill me first,” he said. “I had no choice.”

“You had many choices,” Hannibal said. “Don’t delude yourself into thinking that you had no part in this, Will. Your decision to betray the Family, to betray me, led us to this moment.”

Will looked up, frowning. “Your choice to murder Alana is what led me to betray you,” he said, his voice steely. “You were your own undoing. You loaded the gun, Hannibal. I simply pulled the trigger.”

“I would never have betrayed you in the way that you have me,” Hannibal said.

“You _killed_ Alana!” Will spluttered. “You—you took her from me, you destroyed any future we might have had together! Just because you were… jealous.”

Smith raised a brow at that and Will quickly backtracked, swallowing hard.

“You knew how much I cared for her, Hannibal. I know you didn’t like her, but you didn’t have to kill her. She was already gone, she wasn’t going to come back after everything that I’d done. I just… I just want to know _why_.”

Hannibal looked at Will with a look that was simultaneously pitying and incredulous, as if the answer should be clear to Will.

“Because she was not right for you,” Hannibal said. “Because you chose to throw away your family and the people who cared about you for that _girl_.”

“I love her,” Will’s voice broke. “I loved her and you took her away from me. I trusted you, I cared about you. Hannibal, you’re my _brother_.”

Hannibal leaned back in his seat, studying Will for a long moment.

“And you are mine,” he said. “I loved you, Will, and you have manage to take everything from me in your spite. And not just me. In your fit of petty vengeance, you’ve harmed the entire Family. You’ve not only taken away my freedom, but taken what little family Aunt Theresa has left.”

Will lowered his eyes to the table. “I know,” he whispered. “I know what I did and what I’ve done. It eats at me, Hannibal, but I can’t back down. I won’t.” He looked up, his eyes watery with tears. “I won’t because I’m sick with guilt over what I’m doing, but you don’t even _care_ about how you hurt me.”

He pressed his lips together. “I’m starting to think that you never actually cared about me,” he whispered. “Was it all an act? Were you just pretending to string me along? To keep me from leaving?”

Hannibal’s eyes widened. It would have been comical under other circumstances.

“Of course I care about you, Will. No one has ever been closer to me than you are. Do you think I would allow anyone else to be in such a position as you are to betray me as you have?”

Will nearly flinched. Hannibal’s voice was rough, almost painful with the hurt and the anger that Will could feel lancing him in the chest. He licked his lips and met Hannibal’s eyes. They were dark and it may have been a trick of the light, but Will could’ve sworn he saw tears glistening there.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “But you didn’t give me any other choice.”

* * *

That night Will stayed up long past the time when his babysitters had retired. He stared around the apartment that had been his home for the last couple of weeks and would likely continue to be so for the next several months while the trial progressed.

He thought about his conversation with Hannibal and wondered if Hannibal didn’t have a point. Wouldn’t it have been easier, simpler, to just take his revenge out on Hannibal himself rather than destroying the entire Family? It certainly would’ve been safer for him… But the idea of actually killing Hannibal was more painful than the idea of Hannibal killing Alana.

He made his way to the liquor cabinet and pulled out a half-empty bottle of whiskey, studying it before yanking a glass from the cabinet. He had been doing so much better about the excessive drinking lately, but now there was no one to tell him not to, no one to help him through his emotional crisis. There was no other option but to drown the doubt and guilt away.

In a few months, this would be over. He’d start a new life somewhere and probably spend every night drinking this life away, pretending to be someone else. He idly thought of where he could go. He couldn’t stay in New York and refused to return to Vegas. Perhaps Florida would be nice… A quiet little house on the beach, far away from memories of murderous lovers and stinging betrayal. It would almost be nice, he decided. He could get a new dog, or Hell, several dogs. He had his teaching degree; he could make a living as a teacher like he had always wanted…

A heavy thump outside of the door jolted him out of his thoughts and he swallowed the last of the whiskey in his glass before heading back toward the den. The officers guarding him were still sleeping soundly; he could hear their snoring. He could also hear shuffling and heavy breathing just outside of the front door. Slowly, the knob began turning and Will stumbled backwards a few steps.

Heart thudding in his chest, he reached out and grabbed the first thing he could reach, which turned out to be a brass lamp. He clutched it to his chest and stared, frozen in place, as the door quietly swung open to reveal the hulking figure of Francis Dolarhyde.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah. Next up: more fun with knives!
> 
> All comments and critiques are welcome!


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M ALIIIIIIVE!!!
> 
> I am so, so sorry for the long wait for this chapter. I was fighting writer's block, super busy schedule's and just... ugh. Real life really got in the way. I apologize. I'm still trying to balance everything out and find more time for writing, so the chapters will be short from here on out, I think. Sorry. We are so very close to the end though... I hope it won't take too much longer for me to get this finished.
> 
> Anyway, I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I hope you guys enjoy the chapter!

When asked later to recall the exact order of events, Will would be unable to tell the story clearly. Everything happened in a blur of frantic, adrenaline fueled desperation.

Dolarhyde lunged at him with his blade ready and Will did the first thing that he could think to do: he launched the heavy lamp directly at Dolarhyde’s head. The brutish man was surprisingly fast and ducked to miss the projectile, but the lamp still managed to hit the man in one of his over-large shoulders. He faltered for a moment, but didn’t make a sound beyond one pained grunt.

Dolarhyde continued toward him, barely scathed. Not stopping to think, Will spun and ran down the narrow hall, rushing into the first open door he came to. He slammed it shut and twisted the latch, his heart pounding against his chest. It was dark and he flipped on the light to find himself standing in the small bathroom.

There was no other exit—the bathroom was white and small, the light bouncing off the mirror brightly. Will swore under his breath, regretting not running to his own bedroom or to the room occupied by Agent Smith—Smith had his revolver and Will’s room at least had a telephone so that he could call the other agents for help.

The door rattled loudly and Will jumped, his mind flashing back for a moment to the night Hannibal had nearly killed him. His hands shook and he tried to stay in the present. The door shook again and Will wasn’t sure how much more his nerves could handle.

_Breathe_ , he told himself. _Focus. There must be_ something _in here to use…_

Throwing open the medicine cabinet, Will saw a tube of some sort of ointment, a bottle of pain killers nearly empty from his stay at the hospital and the small razor he used to shave in the mornings. He latched onto it, but it felt ridiculously small in his hands. The glint of Dolarhyde’s knife surfaced to his mind. It was doubtful his pitiful little blade would do any damage against a force like Dolarhyde. There was a reason the Family employed the man, after all. Still, it was better than nothing.

Will readied himself for the inevitable moment when Dolarhyde would tear the door from its hinges and come for him. And he waited. And waited. After thirty of the longest seconds of Will’s life had passed, Will realized that the door hadn’t rattled. He couldn’t hear the heavy breathing from the other man. There was a startlingly intense silence in the air.

He stood there for another moment before edging slowly toward the door. One hand still holding the razor tight, he quietly turned the latch and pulled the door open just a bit. Peering into the hall, he found no one. Heart still thudding away, Will eased his way out of the room, not bothering to turn off the light.

It was once he was fully in the hall that he heard the faint, muffled groans and then a yell—cut off too soon. He thought of Smith, sleeping in his room just down the hall. He thought of the loud sounds of Dolarhyde trying to bust down the bathroom door and realized that Smith must have awoken and went to investigate. Dread filling his veins, he ran toward the sounds, forgetting all about trying to get to the door and escape.

The door the Smith’s room was standing ajar, the glow from the bedside lamp the only source of light. Will held the razor out like a sword as he entered, looking left and right for any signs of his attacker. He saw nothing until he nearly stumbled over a heavy, still-warm something lying just inside the doorway, bathed in shadows.

His foot squelched on something sticky and wet and he was almost too scared to look, but he forced himself to peer down at what had nearly tripped him. Even in the darkness, Will could make out the still form of Agent Smith, face-up on the light carpet, his eyes reflecting the lamp-light dully. His gun rested in his limp fingers and blood was pooling from a terrific gash in his throat.

Will was mesmerized by the sight, getting caught up in a flurry of emotions—worry, excitement, fear, sorrow. Dolarhyde must have heard Smith getting up and gone to take care of him before he could become a problem. For one moment Will allowed himself to feel guilt, but he shoved it aside quickly. He had to worry about getting out of this alive first, _then_ he’d sort through his feelings.

He knelt and snatched up the gun, holding it and the razor in his hands then. Dolarhyde wouldn’t have just left. The question was: where had he gone?

Breathing shakily, Will looked around the room. The lamp was lit, casting an orange-yellow glow. It wasn't much to see by, but Will didn't notice any out-of-place shadows hovering nearby. He held his breath and quietly turned to leave the room, casting one more guilty glance back down at Smith's prone body.

As he made his way back down the hall Will found himself silently praying that he would be able to make it to the front door before Dolarhyde came out of whatever corner he was hiding in. He could get to the street and find someone to help him, surely. As the seconds ticked by, he was more and more confident in his plan.

Then, just as he eased himself into the front room and lowered the gun, something large and heavy slammed into him, toppling him to the floor. Will grunted and fumbled for the gun, but it skittered far from his reach as Dolarhyde knocked it away. For a split second, all Will could see were the whites of his eyes, glowing oddly in the darkness. He didn't see the knife coming until it was right on him and he managed to swing one arm up in time to block his face.

"ARGH!" he screamed as the blade sank into his arm and frantically stabbed out with the small razor, managing to knick the large body on top of him several times. It seemed to have no effect on Dolarhyde at all and Will wondered if the man were even human.

The knife kept coming, swining up and down dangerously. Dolarhyde didn't seem to be aiming for anything vital in particular--he was just trying to do as much damage to Will as he physically could manage.

The blade ripped through the flesh of his arms, his shoulder and twice came very close to taking one of his eyes. Blood welled up hot and thick from the cuts, flowing into one of eyes and blurring his vision. Still, he twisted and writhed under his attacker, trying desparately to grab the knife or hurt him with the razor he held.

Will was sure that at least some of the blood was coming from the wounds he had managed to inflict on Dolarhyde, but it wasn't enough to stop him. It wasn't enough and he was starting to get dizzy. He'd lost so much blood and he couldn't see straight. He was breathing too heavily and Dolarhyde didn't even seem winded.

Finally, he let his head sink back onto the cold, hard floor. He squeezed his eyes shut and stopped fighting, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He expected the fatal blow to come any moment and to his surprise, it didn't. Dolarhyde's mad swinging with the blade stopped as suddenly as it had started and Will didn't pause to think about why that must've been, he simply acted.

Blindly, he swung upwards with the razor, amazed that he had been able to keep his grip on the weapon through the entire ordeal. It connected with something and though Dolarhyde didn't make a sound, he fell back and dropped his blade, clutching at his kneck.

Will rolled over, grimacing as the knife wounds screamed in agony. He fumbled around for the gun and grabbed it, grateful to feel the warm metal beneath his fingers. He found the trigger and forced himself up into a sitting position. He squinted through the blood in his eyes and saw Dolarhyde recovering slowly, reaching for his knife again.

He didn't give him the chance. He pulled the trigger. Once. Twice. Three time. A fourth time, then a fifth. Six. The gun clicked empty when he pulled the trigger a seventh time and eighth time, but Will didn't notice. His ears were ringing and his head was spinning. Dolarhyde wasn't moving and Will could feel his chest tightly expanding.

He kept uselessly pulling the tigger until his numb fingers dropped the gun and the blood loss caught up to him. He passed out still clutching the razor for dear life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Will. I'm so mean to him.
> 
> As always, all mistakes are my own. And speak of, since I had to type this up in WordPad, I wasn't able to spell/grammar check anything properly. If you spot numerous mistakes, that's why. Please point them out so I can fix whatever I missed. 
> 
> Thoughts, comments and critiques are welcome!


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it took me over two months, but here it is, the final chapter! Yes, I said "final". I hadn't planned for this to be the end, but when I started writing it... it just sort of happened. 
> 
> So I'd like to take a moment to thank everyone for reading and commenting! I hope this ending was worth the wait. You guys are amazing I love you!

Will woke in the hospital for the second time in less than six months. His head felt remarkably clear and his body oddly numb. For the first several moments he felt as if he were experiencing the entire thing outside of his body, a watching spectator rather than an active participant. When the feeling past he grimaced and forced himself into a sitting position, finding himself not alone in the room.

Jack Crawford was sitting across from him, hard eyed and oddly anxious looking.

“Good to see you’re awake, Mr. Graham,” he said.

“You’re alive,” Will said dully. He remembered Smith telling him that Crawford had survived Dolarhyde’s attack, but he hadn’t seen the other man since his first stay in the hospital; it was hard to believe without physical proof.

Crawford’s lips twisted into a facsimile of a smile. “So are you,” he said. “For a while there we thought we lost you.”

Will frowned. “Dolarhyde—“

“He’s dead. You saw to that.” There was an odd note of concern in the FBI agent’s voice. He stared at Will, making unwelcome eye contact. Will couldn’t seem to make himself look away.

“Don’t remember much,” Will admitted, face scrunching in thought. “A lot of pain and blood…”

“I imagine. You two did a number on the apartment.” His eyes seemed to be searching for something. Will shifted uncomfortably under the piercing gaze. It reminded him, for a brief moment, of Hannibal and his gut clenched at the thought.

“Doctor’s said it was a miracle you managed to survive him,” Crawford said. “ _I_ barely survived the man.” His lips quirked. “You lost your good looks, but you’re breathing, at least.”

Will frowned, but then he remembered the flash of a knife surging toward his face, blood pouring hotly down into his eyes. He cautiously lifted his hand up and felt a thick bandage on his face, just above his eye. Stitches followed along his cheek where a shallower cut had been made.

“Yeah,” he said dully, feeling the numbness creep into his veins. “I suppose so.”

“I spoke to Lecter,” Crawford said suddenly. Will felt a jolt go up his spine at the mention of his brother. Suddenly the numbness seemed to be replaced with a sickening tingling. He stared at Crawford with wide eyes.

“And?”

“It seems he’s upset about the damage done to you,” Crawford spoke slowly, carefully. “According to him he never wanted Dolarhyde to attack you. Apparently that was an independent action.”

Will almost snorted. Those sounded like Hannibal’s words, all comforting and assuring. Some small part of him longed to believe that it was true, that Hannibal hadn’t truly wanted him dead and was upset that he was hurt. But how could he care about him, claim to have any sort of concern about Will’s welfare, when he’d done something so terrible to him to begin with?

“He says he wants to speak with you as soon as you’re well enough.”

“What?” Will blinked rapidly, sitting up a bit straighter on the bed. “Why?”

Crawford shifted in his seat, the faintest traces of a grimace flitting across his face. Will realized that he was still healing, still recovering from his own attack. He shouldn’t have been back, working, so soon. Smith’s death, and that of the other agents, must have pushed him out of recovery.

“The trial is being postponed until the doctor’s believe you’re well enough to testify in open court,” Crawford told him. “In the meantime, Lecter’s attorney has informed us that he is planning a new defense altogether in light of recent events. When I spoke to Lecter myself he said that he felt that since you had decided to use the American government as a venue to vent your frustration he would simply have to do the same.”

Crawford hesitated for a moment, frowning just slightly. “He told me to tell you… Quid pro quo. A truth for a truth.”

Will’s blood ran cold. Too many possibilities of what Hannibal could mean ran through his mind. Was he going to tell them about Will’s role in Chilton’s death? About Will helping him to kill Mason Verger? Or… about other things that they had sworn never to tell another living soul? His chest felt tight. The tingling he had felt earlier gave way to painful rigidness and he shook his head slowly.

“I have to see him,” he managed to say. “As soon as possible.”

* * *

As soon as possible turned out to be nearly a week and a half later. The doctors and the FBI were reluctant to allow Will to visit Hannibal, especially considering what had happened the last time that Will had spoken to his brother, but Will _needed_ to talk to him, needed to know what he was planning to do. So, less than two weeks after his attack, Will found himself being led to the same cold, impersonal interrogation room as before.

He stepped inside, very aware of Hannibal’s eyes on him, and nodded to the guard at the door. The door closed ominously behind him and Will squared his shoulders. This time there was no one else in the room with them, no one listening in on their conversation. No FBI agents, no lawyers. They were alone as they hadn’t been since this entire mess had started.

“It’s good to see you again, Will,” Hannibal said. “When Agent Crawford told me what was done to you, I admit I was worried. I know you are a resilient person, but to have faced Dolarhyde and survived?”

Will frowned as he took his seat across from the other man.

“Yeah, well, I certainly didn’t make it out unscathed, did I?” he snapped, gesturing wildly to the stitches on his face. All the stitches for the deepest cut above his eye had been removed, leaving nothing but angry red skin that the doctors assured him would eventually fade. The scar would be there forever though.

Hannibal’s eyes traced the lines and his eyes seemed more alive than they had the last time Will had spoken to him.

“Neither of us are going to come out of this without scars, dear Will. What you attempted was a violent and painful separation. Did you imagine you were only going to hurt me in the process?”

“I had hoped,” Will said quietly. “But now I see how stupid I was to ever assume you would let me just walk away without putting up some sort of fight.”

A smile twisted Hannibal’s lips and he tilted his head just slightly. “Agent Crawford informed you that I am changing my defense strategy, I assume?”

“He mentioned it. Though he neglected to elaborate on just what your new defense strategy is going to be. Apparently you were purposefully vague in that area.” Will tried to keep his voice steady, to hide the fear that was spiking through his veins. He hoped to whatever God there might be that Hannibal wasn’t going to go as far as he was assuming.

“It’s quite simple, really,” Hannibal said. “You are attempted to destroy my character, my image. I decided it would only be fair if I did the same to you. This way they have the entire story rather than working with just your half of it.”

Will’s throat convulsed. “What, exactly, is _your half_?”

“Nothing but the truth,” Hannibal said. “I intend to tell them that you and I are—were—lovers. That you murdered Frederick Chilton and, in fact, that it was your idea to do so. That you assisted me in the murder of Mason Verger and in the planning of the massacre in New York. I will tell that we had a falling out when your former fiancée returned and that you, seeking revenge against me, went to the FBI.” He paused, smiling faintly and watched the blood drain from Will’s face.

“You can’t tell them that!” he said, his voice sharp and pleading.

“Why not? It’s the truth, is it not? Tell me Will, how do you think they will feel when you become not the uncertain adoptive brother trying desperately to do what is right and are transformed into the jaded lover whose real motive is nothing more than petty vengeance? How kindly would the FBI look upon their star witness when they find out that you were frequently a party to my so-called crimes? How credible do you think your testimony against me will be when I reveal how you have laid beneath me and moaned like a whore since we were teenagers?”

“You _can’t_ tell them that!” Will repeated, his words taking on a desperate edge. “Hannibal… Please. Think about what you’re doing!”

“Why? You certainly didn’t. I’m merely making sure that the entire story is out there, rather than half-truths and secrets hidden away. This way they will be able to make a more informed decision as to my fate, don’t you think?”

Will stared at him, shaking his head over and over. He leaned forward, almost grabbing Hannibal’s hands where they were shackled to the table. He stopped himself before he could actually touch him, but Hannibal noticed anyway and smirked at him.

“What do you want from me, Hannibal?”

“What I want is for things to be the way that they were,” Hannibal said. “For us to be together with no obstacles in our way. For us to be a family like we are meant to be.”

“It can’t be like that anymore. Not after what you’ve done, not after everything…”

“I will, however, settle for you doing one thing for me, Will.”

Will swallowed roughly. “What?”

“Don’t testify.”

Will slumped in his seat. “I have to Hannibal. They are going to just let me walk away from this. They’ve got me under constant guard, especially after Dolarhyde. Even if I wanted to—“

“Find a way,” Hannibal insisted. “You found a way to betray me. Find a way to get out of this. Leave. Without your testimony they have very little actual evidence. I can win if they don’t have you working against me.”

“How can I just walk away in good conscience?” Will demanded. “And let you go free? You’re a murderer, Hannibal.”

“So are you,”

Will grimaced at those words, suddenly becoming very interested in his hands. He squeezed his eyes shut after a moment and nodded.

“I am,” he said. “I never meant to be, but I am and part of me wants to blame you, but you’re right… I had no illusions when I signed up for that.” He looked up slowly, meeting Hannibal’s gaze. He sucked in a hard breath.

“If I do this… I want this to be the end. I want it to be over. I’ll disappear and so will you and I don’t ever want to see you or hear from you again. Okay?”

Hannibal’s smile was soft and surprisingly gentle. He stretched his fingers and brushed them briefly against Will’s. “Of course,” he said. “I understand. This will be our final chapter.”

Will’s heart stuttered in his chest. The thought of never seeing Hannibal against was daunting, but it was what he had wanted all along, wasn’t it? For an ending? He nodded jerkily.

“Alright. Alright, I’ll… I’ll do it. I won’t testify.”

Hannibal smiled wider and his eyes glimmered.

“Thank you, Will. I knew that you would see things my way.” He paused and studied Will’s face. “If this is truly going to be our goodbye… Could you do one more thing for me? I have missed you so much. I would like to kiss you again, Will. Just once.”

Will was suddenly sucked back in time, to the night of Mischa’s wedding. Hannibal had asked then for just one more kiss. Will had given in then in spite of himself. He stared across the table at his brother and felt his gut tighten. Without a word he stood and placed a hand on either side of Hannibal’s face, leaning down and pressing their lips together.

It was soft and slow and gentle. Hannibal smiled into the kiss and Will felt another tiny piece of his heart shatter, thinking of all the things they could have had, could have been. But it was all over now and he pulled back slowly, tears glistening in his eyes.

“Goodbye, Hannibal…”

* * *

Slipping out of the hospital turned out to be easier than Will had thought. Two days after his talk with Hannibal he packed his meager bag of clothes and slipped out of the hospital room after asking Crawford to fetch him a cup of coffee. He left two notes—one apologizing to Crawford for having to abandon the trial and other for his Aunt Theresa, apologizing for all the pain he’d caused.

Two weeks later he found himself thousands of miles away in Florida. He managed to get a job as a mechanic and found a rickety little house right up on the beach. He settled in and went about creating a new life for himself, ignoring the ghosts of Alana and Molly and Mischa whenever they saw fit to pop up. It was almost comforting. Almost normal.

He didn’t read the papers. He had no interest at all in finding out how the trial went for Hannibal without him there. He had put as much distance between them as he could and he still somehow felt that it wasn’t enough.

He stayed isolated and rarely spoke to anyone, trying his best to mind his own business and not draw any attention to himself. After nearly six months Will thought that perhaps this would be life from then on. It felt almost too good to be true, like he was living a dream, in suspended animation, simply waiting to be woken up.

And so, of course, one early morning while he was working on fixing the warped siding of his tiny home, he was woken up.

He heard the footsteps before anything else. Steady, clipped and expensive. Then he smelt the familiar smell of Hannibal and his knees nearly buckled. He didn’t turn around when he felt the hairs on his neck stand on end. He continued his work and shook his head.

“I should’ve known you wouldn’t let that be the end,”

“How could I?” Hannibal asked. “You have always been such a big part of my life, Will. I hardly know how to live it without you.”

Will turned around slowly, raising a brow. Hannibal was right behind him, invading his personal space. Will felt the heat of him and wanting nothing more than to drag him closer, to kiss him and hold him and have everything go back to the way that it had been before Alana Bloom and Frederick Chilton and the mess that had happened around their lives.

Hannibal’s eyes were shining with tears unshed, his expression full of pain and regret and Will knew instantly why he was there. He stayed where he was, staring into the older man’s eyes as he lifted a hand to caress his messy curls. He leaned into the warm, familiar touch and reached up to grip the hand, holding it there.

“I love you,” Will said quietly, his voice watery.

Hannibal’s lips twitched and he nodded. “I know,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

Then Will felt the pain. Sharp and immediate in his gut. His eyes shut automatically and he fell forward into Hannibal’s waiting arms, clutching onto him like a lifeline.

“I’m sorry,” Hannibal petted his hair and pressed a kiss to his temple as he held him there. “I’m sorry.”

Will choked, tasting blood and smiled, pressing his face into the crook of Hannibal’s shoulder as he felt the world dimming around him.

“I know,” he whispered. “I know…”

* * *

**FIN**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to point out that this was NOT the ending I had planned. I had something entirely different in mind, but Hannibal refused to cooperate. He liked this ending much better and, well, I can't argue with him. He scares me. So yeah, blame Hannibal for this. 
> 
> Or me, I suppose. 
> 
> Anyway. I hope you all enjoyed the story and I truly appreciate all your patience and support! 
> 
> Comments and critique are welcome!


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